Treacherous Affairs Part Two
by NeverNik
Summary: Draco, Hermione, their friends and enemies return in the sequel to 'Treacherous Affairs.' Draco and Hermione start their new careers. Will their love withstand new challenges? Will Pansy and Ron seek revenge? Dramione, other pairings, rated M for profanity and sex scenes. Cover Art by the magnificent Sleepygrimm.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello everyone, and welcome to Treacherous Affairs Part Two! The story resumes from where it was left in Treacherous Affair's epilogue – Draco and Hermione were going on holiday for two weeks at Malfoy Manor.**

* * *

Hermione tugged on Draco's hand. 'What's the hurry?' she said, smiling coquettishly.

Surprised, Draco stopped walking. He didn't think they were hurrying at all. He turned around and looked at her.

Standing in the shade of the ancient elms that lined the entrance to Malfoy Manor, his girlfriend looked coy. 'I want to kiss you again,' she whispered. 'It's been so long…'

Draco's eyebrow and another part of his anatomy rose. Smirking, he swaggered back to her. 'Can't keep your hands off me, eh?' he asked, noting that the trees conveniently shielded them from possible curious eyes in the Manor.

'Something like that,' she said, and to Draco's great surprise, she jumped him, wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him hard.

'Mmph!' Draco staggered backwards and landed, in a collection of arms and legs, on the grass. When they eventually broke the kiss to breathe, he asked 'What's gotten into you? Not that I'm complaining.'

She stared at him. 'Nothing's 'gotten into me.' That's the point.' Then she ground her core against his burgeoning erection.

Gods, he thought, that felt so good. And also - so wrong. 'Love, we're in the Manor's entranceway. While I'm normally more than happy to engage in sex _al fresco_ , now's just not the right time.'

Hermione sighed and hopped off him, looping her arms around her bent knees.

Draco may have been away from Hermione for a few months, but he still knew her every mood. 'What's worrying you?' he asked gently.

She cast an anguished glance at him. 'Your parents.'

He wrapped his arms around her. 'It'll be okay,' he soothed. 'Mother will love you.'

She swallowed. 'What about your father?'

'I won't let anything happen to you.' This promise was the best he could do.

She sighed again.

Draco tilted her chin up with his finger. 'Come on, show me some of that Gryffindor courage.'

She poked her tongue out at him.

He laughed. 'That's better.' Releasing her, he held out his hand.

She took it, they stood up and wandered up to the main doors, hand in hand.

* * *

Lucius grunted. 'What do you think they're doing behind those trees?'

Narcissa sighed. 'Maybe he's giving her a lecture on the flora and fauna of the estate.'

He hacked out a laugh. 'That'll be the day.'

Narcissa took him by the earlobe and dragged him away from the window overlooking the entrance. 'Look. They're both of age, and they haven't seen each other in three months. They could be shagging each other up against a tree for all I care, and do you know why?'

Lucius, wincing from the pressure Narcissa expended on his poor, tender lobe, ventured 'No, dear.'

'Because Draco's alive. That's why.'

Lucius recalled the circumstances that almost led to his son's death with a shiver. While he was still royally pissed off that Draco wouldn't be following in his footsteps by joining Malfoy Enterprises, he was immensely grateful that his only son was still alive for him to be pissed off at.

And he had to admit he thoroughly enjoyed his hour-long rant at both Dumbledore and Snape regarding their failure to keep his son safe while he was in their care.

'Here they come!' Narcissa let go of his ear and checked her already perfect reflection in the hall mirror. 'I want you on your best behaviour, Lucius. I mean it.'

'Yes, dear,' he drawled, rolling his eyes (when her back was safely turned).

* * *

As Draco and Hermione approached, the cavernous front doors swung open. Maple the house-elf again clung to one of the door handles, her eyes out on stalks, desperate to ogle the young lady who turned Master Draco from an arrogant, rude, selfish little b- (cough), into a less arrogant, less rude and less selfish little – oh, never mind, here they are!

Maple was nearly overcome with emotion when Master Draco held Miss Hermione's hand to escort her up the front stairs. The poor miss was obviously nervous, biting her lip as she slowly ascended. And Master Draco's face when he looked at her was – was –

'Hi Maple!' Draco called. 'Miss Hermione's here, come and meet her!'

Maple burst into loud and watery sobs and fled into the Manor's vestibule.

'What did I do?' asked Hermione, horrified.

'Um…' Draco scratched his head. 'Never mind. Mother and Father won't be too far away.'

Sure enough, as Draco and Hermione entered the Manor's light, airy and massive marble vestibule, Hermione was immediately accosted by a beautiful blonde woman who enveloped her in a gloriously perfumed hug – and burst into tears.

Hermione, patting the woman awkwardly on the back, signalled a nonplussed Draco desperately with her eyes.

'Mother, please let Hermione breathe. What's wrong?'

Narcissa stepped back, dabbing at her tears with a lawn handkerchief. 'Oh, darling, I'm just so happy to meet Hermione!' She smiled bravely at Draco, then turned back to Hermione. 'I'm just so happy to meet you!' she said, before her bottom lip wobbled and she enveloped Hermione in a bone-crushing hug again.

'Lovely to meet you too, Mrs Malfoy!' Hermione wheezed. As far as greetings went, it was odd but certainly positive. Now all that was left was to meet –

'Lucius!' Narcissa's surprised voice broke through her thoughts. 'You changed _into_ your robes?'

'Quite,' drawled a posh, bored voice.

Narcissa stepped away, and Hermione saw the head of the Malfoy family, standing in the vestibule in the inkiest, blackest robes you ever saw. His long, silver-blond hair rippled over his shoulders, his nose was parked up in the air, and even his snake-tipped cane looked like it was far too good for the likes of her.

'Miss Granger,' Lucius said coldly, 'welcome to Malfoy Manor.'

Hermione tried not to shiver. But she couldn't bring herself to raise a hand for him to look pointedly at; then ignore. 'Thank you, Mr Malfoy,' she said, with nary a wobble to her voice. 'I am grateful for your generosity in letting me stay here.'

She grimaced inside. What was she, a Gryffindor or a mouse? But - Lord, he's imposing. Even at Draco's worst – or was that best? - he couldn't hold a candle to Mr Malfoy's ice-cold demeanour.

Narcissa pouted. He looked so sexy in black dress pants, tailored business shirt and with his hair tied back. Which, funnily enough, was exactly what he was wearing not five minutes ago.

'Draco, why don't you show Hermione to your room, and she can freshen up? We'll have lunch on the patio in half an hour's time.' Narcissa beamed at Hermione. 'I can't wait to hear all about you!'

Hermione smiled. At least Mrs Malfoy was human. 'Thanks, Mrs Malfoy.'

Lucius looked down his nose at her, as still as stone.

Draco eyeballed his father, but to no avail. He shook his head. 'This way, madam,' he said to Hermione, holding out a hand. She smiled and took it.

Narcissa followed the pair up the stairs with stars in her eyes. 'Don't they look lovely together?' she sighed happily.

Lucius snorted, a rather ungentlemanly behaviour for him. He pricked up his ears. Any second now…

'FATHER! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL HAVE YOU DONE?'

He smirked, which he hastily changed to a raised, elegant eyebrow when Narcissa turned on him.

* * *

Lucius folded his arms. 'Not under my roof.'

Draco grabbed two handfuls of his hair and pulled hard in vexation. 'We're both adults, for Circe's sake,' he ground out. 'Are you trying to tell me you and Mother didn't' –

'Draco, that will do,' Narcissa interrupted calmly. Then she gave Lucius the Malfoy Look (perfected upon marrying into the family). 'Lucius. Take down the wards preventing Hermione from going in to Draco's bedroom. I want grandchildren.'

Hermione, cheeks already pink from the fuss, blushed beet red. Draco became alarmed. 'Hang on a minute' –

'Children will be procreated when there is a ring on the mother's and father's finger!' thundered Lucius.

Oddly, Draco found himself agreeing with the disagreeable miseryguts.

'Miss Granger will be permitted to enter Draco's bedroom when she bears that ring. And not a second before.'

'Is that all?' Draco was relieved. 'Mother, can I look through the Malfoy jewels?'

Narcissa's face lit up.

'Wait!'

All heads turned at the thin, reedy voice.

Hermione, looking faint, nonetheless said 'Draco, I don't want you to propose to me just to get around your father. He's the head of the house, and while we may not like his rules, he's entitled to set them. It will just be for a couple of weeks.' Her eyes silently pleaded with him.

Draco, and to a lesser degree Narcissa, glared lasers at the smug head of the household.

'Fine,' replied Draco evenly. 'I'll show you to a guest bedroom.'

Lucius happily watched Draco escort Hermione down the hallway, not looking at his wife, who was tapping her foot impatiently on the floor, her arms crossed.

At least _someone_ in this household respects my position, he thought.

* * *

Two weeks passed by in a lovely idyll, thanks mostly to Lucius spending long hours at Malfoy Enterprises. Narcissa, starved of female company all these years, was delighted to have the closest thing to a daughter she was going to get, and wasted no time in showing Hermione all the secrets of the Manor, the intricacies of the extensive gardens, and, most importantly – shopping until Hermione dropped. When it came to parting with eye-wateringly-large amounts of Galleons, Narcissa was made of very stern stuff. She even began to teach Hermione the basics of the Malfoy Look. One can never start too early.

Unfortunately, and as guilty as Hermione felt about accepting Narcissa's generosity, she couldn't model any of the beautiful items of clothing and underclothing for Draco, since he couldn't get into her bedroom, either. And she didn't see the appeal in prancing past her open doorway in her unmentionables when anyone (i.e. Lucius) could wander past, much to Draco's disappointment.

Draco being Draco, he wasn't prepared to sacrifice two weeks of his life to abstinence if he could help it. To his mind, there was only one thing for it – sex _al fresco_. There was no way the old buzzard could have charmed the entire Manor grounds to prevent them from shagging. He hoped.

And he was right, Lucius couldn't have. But that didn't mean he didn't have a plan B. He wouldn't be a Malfoy without a plan B, let's face it.

One morning, hand in hand, Draco and Hermione wandered through the vast ornamental maze that led from the terrace. Awed, Hermione spent most of her time looking up at the tall, imposing and manicured shrubs while Draco turned this way and that. It was some time before she realised that Draco had stopped walking.

She looked around. 'Is this the centre of the maze?'

'No, that can be seen from the house. This alcove is one of the very few blind spots of the maze.' He led her to an aged marble bench, languishing in a shaded corner. He sat down, and pulled Hermione on top of his lap.

She looked at the bench. 'I take it one of your ancestors had the same idea?'

He grinned. 'Must have had a similar father to mine.'

She smiled, and brushed his jaw with her fingers. 'I love you.'

Draco's eyes darkened and he pulled her in. 'I love' – but his lips got the better of him, and they met hers with passion.

Their first, full, private kiss in months, not having to worry about who was gawking at them. It was like striking a match. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty. Just raw, hard desire. Lips, tongues and even teeth clashed and collided in an effort to get as close to the other as possible. Draco pulled the buttons of Hermione's dress open and nearly cried when he finally got to see – and touch – the breasts that had been haunting every dream he'd had since he left Hogwarts. He remembered the throaty moan she made when he cupped them and brushed his nipples with her thumbs. Feverishly, he reached inside the back of her dress and unclipped the bra. 'Oh, gods,' he groaned when he felt her bare flesh.

Hermione, meanwhile, was making inroads into Draco's clothing. Not wanting to leave Draco's mouth for a second, she felt for his belt and quickly undid it. The buttons and zip of his jeans made way for her hand, searching for, and ah! – wrapping around his steel-hard erection.

Draco's eyes rolled in the back of his head. 'Love, I don't think I'm going to last very long,' he muttered against her mouth.

Hermione responded by hooking her panties and pushing them aside with her finger. 'Touch me,' she whispered.

He slid two fingers between her legs and closed his eyes in bliss when he encountered her slick wetness. He brought them to the entrance of her pussy, and on her nod, he sheathed them inside her. Hermione threw her head back and ground down hard on his fingers, gripping his cock harder in her hand.

'If you touch my clit, I'll come,' she whispered. 'I want you so badly.'

He could never deny her anything.

With his thumb, he rubbed her pulsing clit in circles. And she was right. He hadn't completed more than four circles around her button when her pussy clamped down on his fingers, and she came, shuddering and crying out his name.

Gods, he loved watching her come. He loved making her come.

She kissed him hard. 'Inside me. Now,' she panted.

Yes, ma'am. He gripped his cock, and she raised herself up on her knees. He angled his erection to her luscious pussy and…

…was interrupted by the sound of a nearby house-elf bursting into tears and disapparating.

Draco and Hermione stared at each other in horror.

* * *

'Spies?' Draco yelled angrily. 'You're having us followed by fucking house elves to make sure we don't have sex?'

'Language, Draco,' Lucius said mildly. Sitting in his study, he poured a dram of Laphroaig for himself, and after a hesitation, one for his son. Which he could drink after he stopped pacing around the room and flinging his arms in the air.

'What the hell is wrong with you?' Draco roared. A cock-blocked Malfoy is a dangerous thing. 'I brought girls home and fucked them before I met Hermione, you know damn well I did. Why are you being such a prude all of a sudden?'

Lucius yawned and examined his fingernails.

Draco slowed to a stop, turned around and stared at Lucius. 'This is to get back at me for not going into Malfoy Enterprises, isn't it?'

Lucius smirked. 'So trying when one can't have what one wants, isn't it?'

Draco boggled. 'Father, this isn't school. Even I would never stoop as low as this, and that's saying something.'

Actually, he would have, before he fell in love with Hermione.

'I daresay I'll get over it eventually. But not in the remaining time you have here with Miss Granger. Delectable creature that she is.'

Draco's eyes narrowed. 'Don't you even dare. You have no right to perv at the woman I love.'

Lucius smirked. 'You think you know about love.'

Draco sighed. 'Salazar's tits, Father. Try walking a mile in someone else's shoes besides your own, for a change.'

Lucius's eyes also narrowed, mimicking Draco's.

Draco stomped up to Lucius's desk, behind which he was presiding, and leaned over. 'I'm a chip off the old block, Father. Consider what lengths you would go to in order to best your father if he did this to you.'

With that, he snatched the remaining Laphroaig, downed the contents in one (to Lucius's horror) and banged the empty glass on the desk. 'Thanks,' he said, before storming out of the office.

Lucius looked at the empty glass in thoughtful contemplation. Draco was so much nicer when he was a baby and house-elves fed, changed and played with him.

* * *

Hermione wasn't sure she liked the set of Draco's jaw as they headed to the lake's boathouse. But she clutched her towel and hurried after him.

Maple followed at a discreet distance, scuffing her large feet. She didn't want to spy on Master Draco and Miss Hermione. She certainly didn't want to interrupt them when they were making babies, which is what Master Lucius instructed her to do. That time in the maze, they looked so romantic together, so passionate that, overcome, she burst into tears instead of hexing Master Draco's wee-willy to go all floppy. In hindsight, it was probably just as well. Master Draco may have mellowed out, but she couldn't see him accepting her stammered explanation and apology with a lot of patience or grace.

But it looks like Master Draco may have come up with a viable plan. They were heading to the boathouse, which meant they were taking the boat out on the lake. Maple couldn't apparate onto the lake, and Master Draco will ward the boat to prevent her from landing on it, because Master Draco was a smart boy. She would just have to sit on the shoreline and wait. And hope that Master Draco rowed a good deal out.

Draco stared at Hermione as he energetically rowed the little boat out into the vast lake. He had a lot of energy to burn. Also, she looked absolutely drop-dead sexy in her skimpy navy-blue bikini with side-ties and expanse of golden skin.

Hermione regarded the maniac gleam in Draco's eyes with consternation. 'Are you okay?'

'Never better,' huffed Draco, turning around to see how far out he'd rowed. Just a little further…

Hermione shaded her eyes and looked back at the shore. 'Maple looks like she's building sandcastles.'

'Good for Maple,' he gritted. Nearly there…

'It's hardly her fault.'

'Didn't say it was.' He fixated on Hermione's gorgeous breasts, only just hidden by her bikini top. Her nipples looked rock hard. Good. Matched his cock. It had been more or less erect since their aborted session in the maze, and it was driving him doolally.

She clamped down on a sudden urge to laugh. In the Muggle world, who would believe all this?

At last, Draco decided they had come out far enough. He dropped the anchor, grabbed Hermione, kissed her hard, then leapt into the lake.

'AAARRRGGGHHH!'

'Jesus, Draco, what's wrong?' gasped Hermione, leaning over the side of the boat when he resurfaced.

'It's bloody cold!'

That did it. She burst out laughing.

And for the first time since the maze disappointment, so did Draco.

* * *

After much encouragement from Draco, Hermione eventually slid into the dark blue waters of the lake, shrieking, as he did, about the temperature.

Draco shook his head and sighed. 'There's only one way to get over the cold.'

'Cast a warming charm?'

He smiled. 'Oh, no.' He dived under the water, and before Hermione realised what that meant, he'd grabbed her legs and pulled her down.

By the time she surfaced, spitting wet hair out of her mouth in outrage, Draco was treading water a safe distance away and laughing.

'Stay right there, you!' Hermione shouted, commencing a fast crawl towards him.

'Hell, no, woman!' he laughed, backstroking out of reach.

Eventually Hermione warmed up, and she promised Draco she wouldn't non-verbally freeze his balls together (as she had threatened). Keeping the boat between themselves and Maple (happily frolicking on the shoreline in the summer sun), they tread water as they slowly kissed.

The kisses built in intensity, and Hermione soon felt the evidence of Draco's desire for her, pressing against her stomach. Smiling, she sneaked a hand towards his erection… then gaped at him in surprise.

'Where are your swimming trunks?'

He smirked and nodded at the boat. 'In there.'

'When the hell…? Oh, never mind.' She wrapped her legs around his waist and teased him by brushing her bikini-bottomed core over his very hard cock. Draco hissed and forced himself not to come.

He looked over at a nearby shore, lined with weeping willows. Ancient old branches stretched out over the water, their leaves providing a promising shield of privacy. He squinted at Maple. She was sunbathing. Or sleeping. Taking Hermione's hand, they slowly swam to the willows.

When Draco could touch the lake floor with his feet, he gathered Hermione into his arms and kissed her, sliding his tongue into her mouth and exploring her. She felt drugged with desire and concentrated on the feel of his tongue inside her, and her tongue inside him, when she realised that her bottom was a little barer than it was a minute ago.

She looked into the water, then up at her smug lover. 'You're getting far too good at removing clothing without me noticing.'

'I'll make it worth your while,' he murmured as he traced his lips down her neck, and onto her pulse. 'I'm going to mark you,' he said. 'Show my bloody father what I think of his rules.'

Hermione sighed. 'Draco, that's – oh, my GOD, that's so good!' she moaned, flinging her head back and giving him room. Encouraged, Draco sucked at her pulse hard, licking it with his tongue before sucking again, over and over until a deep red circle appeared on her neck. He examined it, and pouted.

'What's wrong?' Hermione asked.

He sighed. 'I'd hoped I had made the hickey in the shape of a heart.'

She smiled.

'I've done it before.'

She shoved him under the water.

When he resurfaced, he wisely refrained from continuing the conversation, and bestowed upon Hermione his knicker-dropping smile. She let herself be swept into his arms, and threaded her hands through his wet hair while he untied the top of her bikini and kissed his way to her naked breasts.

When he put his lips to one nipple and sucked on it, she let out a ragged moan and thrust her chest at him, wanting more. With one arm around her waist, he cupped her other breast with his spare hand, kneading it lightly until he reached the nipple – and tugged.

Hermione bit down on a wail of desire – she didn't want to draw Maple's attention, even if she did seem to be fast asleep on the other shoreline.

Draco's erection was back with a vengeance. To his chagrin, he had a feeling this wouldn't be a marathon shag. He wouldn't last nearly long enough to show Hermione how much he desired her. Needed her.

Hermione's legs were already wrapped around his waist. 'Draco, I need you,' she whispered into his mouth.

He kissed her, and manoeuvred her into place – her core hovering just above his straining erection.

'I love you,' he whispered – and surged inside her.

As it turned out, he needn't have worried about not lasting the distance. Hermione was just as desperate as he was to join together so intimately. Draco used his hands to help Hermione move up and down his cock, making sure he filled her completely with every descent. Her wet breasts rubbed against his bare chest, creating blissful sensations for his lover. He lowered his head to hers and whispered in her ear – how long he'd been waiting to do this. How she'd bewitched him. How much he missed her when they were apart.

He briefly closed his eyes when he felt her pussy start to flutter around his cock. 'D-Draco, I'm going to' –

'Come for me love,' he gritted.

She called out his name as she orgasmed hard over his cock. By this stage, both were beyond caring if Maple was listening in. Finally, Draco gave in to his body and came inside his girl, over and over.

Nothing felt more right.

* * *

A little while later…

'Draco?' Hermione's voice was sleepy.

'Yes, love?' Draco's was also sleepy.

'Where are my bikini bottoms?'

Draco thought. Then his eyes widened. Oh, shit.

If Maple didn't wake when Draco and Hermione orgasmed, there was no way she could have not have heard the piercing shriek of rage that came from Miss Hermione's mouth upon the discovery of the loss of her bikini bottoms.

* * *

As Draco and Hermione came to the end of their two-week stay with the Malfoys, they conducted a quick stocktake.

Number of times they had sex: one sodding time

Number of times Draco lost his temper with his father: a few dozen

Number of times Maple burst into tears whenever she found Draco and Hermione engaged in a public display of affection: seventy-five or so

Number of engagement rings presented: none (although Narcissa was more than eager to walk Draco through their fabulous collection of jewellery, just in case)

Number of times Draco wanked in the shower in the morning: every morning

Articles of clothing lost: one bikini bottom

Articles of clothing gained (by Hermione, via Narcissa): two hundred and twenty.

All in all, Hermione mused as she packed her trunk for their next two-week stay, I had a very nice time at Malfoy Manor. Even if the sex was a bit lacking in amount.

Thank God Mum and Dad are more progressive than Mr Malfoy, she thought with relief.

* * *

 **A/N: What a long first chapter that was! To think I started it by staring at the computer screen and wailing 'I don't know what to write!' Stay tuned for chapter two, where our lovers spend a fortnight at the Grangers. Until then, take care and please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: welcome back, readers! Thanks so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed and favourited the story so far.**

 **Unlike Treacherous Affairs, which was based on a movie, Part Two has to come entirely from my imagination. It's certainly getting a workout :)**

 **Let's join Draco and Hermione as they start the next leg of their holiday…**

* * *

Draco and Hermione sat on the train to London. Malfoy Manor was now just a pleasant - if somewhat sexually frustrating - memory.

Hermione peeked up at Draco, whose shoulder she was borrowing as a pillow. His head was turned to the window, but his eyes were closed. He looked asleep.

She smiled to herself. Any other bloke who had spent nearly all of his life in the Wizarding world would probably be having kittens at the thought of spending two weeks thrust into the deep end of the bottomless pool of Muggledom. Not Draco. He takes everything in his stride, probably assuming that the Muggle world will fall at his feet – much like the Wizarding one has. Whoever thought arrogance could be a positive feature?

At least she'll be there if he ends up tripping over those feet of his. Hermione gently snuggled into the arm that he'd wrapped around her, and continued with her Healer course reading.

Draco was, in fact, not asleep. His countenance may be serene (and gorgeous), but inside, he was as panicky as a Quidditch merchandiser whose wife just ran off with the bloke who supplied all his Quidditch jerseys and the Quidditch World Cup is just five seconds away from officially opening and he hasn't got any bloody jerseys to sell at highly marked-up prices.

Oh yeah, and his wife's buggered off, too.

Two weeks in which he can't use his wand, which has been an extension of his body since he started school. The thought of it made him feel naked, but definitely not in a good way.

And then there were Hermione's parents.

She'd assured him that they were modern, rational people, who trusted her to make good decisions and to take care of herself.

And they would definitely understand why she and Draco were a couple after not being on speaking terms for most of their school life.

* * *

Their train pulled into Victoria Station, not with the dramatic hissing, honking and billowing steam of the Hogwarts Express, mind you. As they got up and stretched, Hermione reminded Draco that they were responsible for collecting their luggage from the train, due to the lack of house-elves.

Draco's heart sank a tiny smidgen. And so it begins.

Eventually they located their school trunks and heaved them on to a cart. They weaved their way slowly (and to Draco's mind, irritatingly) through the crowds of passengers, meeters, greeters and seer-offers. Then Hermione let out a rather unusual, high-pitched 'eep' sound and disappeared ahead of him, only to be swallowed up by a complicated conga line of tourists in loud shirts and even louder tour guides, waving fluorescent triangles in the air and honking 'Follow me please!' in English and half a dozen other languages.

While he waited for the lurid line to sod off, two giggling teenage girls in cut-off denim shorts and tank tops sidled up to him. 'Excuse me,' one of the girls (with blonde hair and braces) said with a bashful smile, 'could we have a selfie with you?'

In front of Draco's baffled eyes, she brandished an oblong, metallic object that Draco vaguely recognised as a Smartfone. Hermione had one.

He knew he was in England. But he'd was damned if he understood the language.

'Um, I have a girlfriend,' seemed to be his safest response. Especially when talking to girls wearing shorts _that_ short.

They giggled again. 'That's okay, Troy, I'm sure she won't mind!'

'Um, who?'

They weren't listening. Giggling Teenager One velcroed herself to his left hip, and Giggling Teenager Two (also with blonde hair and braces) did the same on the other side. Giggling Teenager One held the fone in front of them and said 'Cheese!' The two girls beamed and thrust out their chests. There was a click, and Draco wondered to himself if all Muggle people were this forward.

Friendly.

Forward.

Giggling Teenager One peered into her fone, then jumped up and down in delight. 'Omigod, that's so awesome! Thank you!'

'I loved you in 'Apocalyptic Vision,' your abs were so muscular!' gushed Giggling Teenager Two, looking hungrily at Draco's torso.

'Um… thank you?' said Draco. Hermione, where the fuck are you? he channelled desperately.

'OMG, look at his eyes, they're so gorgeous! I could never get tired of looking into those.'

Draco looked around him. Instead of just two giggling teenagers, there were now a bunch of people staring at him, pointing at him and having intense discussions with their neighbours. Presumably about him.

He noted with alarm that some were creeping forward towards him, proffering their bloody fones.

'Troy! Over here!'

'Troy, I love yooooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!'

'Troy, is there any truth to the rumour that you and Rihanna are' –

'Troy, I want to have your babies!'

'Draco!'

Oh, thank Merlin.

He whirled around in search of his saviour. He found her nearby, practically doubled over with laughter, in the company of a middle-aged couple with excellent teeth. He leapt over the trunks in a graceful, athletic move that set his audience off oohing and aahing, and wrapped his arms hard around her. 'Never leave me again,' he growled.

Stepping back, he took her by the arms. 'What the hell is going on? Why are people calling me Troy and wanting to have my babies?'

'Your babies?' Hermione looked over his shoulder, intent on finding the generous but seriously misguided baby incubator.

'Hello, dear,' beamed the curly-haired woman next to Hermione. Hell. He'd almost forgotten about the parents. 'I'm Jean, Hermione's mother. You look strikingly similar to a famous actor called Troy Fendalton. I think these people have mistaken you for him. Don't you think, dear?' she said, turning to her husband.

Andrew Granger, who was reading something on his fone, looked up vaguely. 'Oh! Hello there. I'm Andrew, Hermione's father. And you must be...' he looked confused and glanced at his wife. 'Troy?'

'No, dear, this is Draco.'

'I thought so,' said Andrew, perplexed. 'But why are people calling him Troy?'

Draco offered his hand. 'Hello, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for letting me stay with you.' He and Andrew shook hands, and he took Jean's hand and kissed it formally. She turned pink and giggled.

Meanwhile, Hermione was having interactions with some of Troy's fan club.

'Oi! You're not his girlfriend!'

Hermione bristled. 'I bloody well am.'

'No yer not! Troy's girlfriend is famous movie star Sage Gibbs-Everett, 'oo's got long blonde 'air down to 'er arse an' boobs that stick out to' –

'You'd better not be looking at my boobs, mate!' Hermione retorted.

Damn straight, thought Draco. And Andrew.

Draco put an arm around his indignant girlfriend's shoulder and dropped a kiss on her hair.

The crowd gasped. Fones clicked like mad.

He ignored them. 'Come on, lioness, I'm dying to see your home,' he murmured.

Smirking, Hermione stuck her nose up in the air and turned on her heel. She rested her hand in the crook of his arm and walked proudly off the platform to the car park. Not because everyone thought Draco was Troy Fendalton.

Because she had someone much better.

* * *

'Oh, home! I've missed you so much!' Hermione burst through the front door and skipped through the lobby into the Granger's large kitchen, flinging her arms wide and whirling around and around and around.

Jean smiled indulgently and tiptoed around her dancing daughter to put the kettle on. 'Careful, dear, Crookshanks is skulking nearby.'

Meanwhile, Draco and Andrew were struggling with the luggage.

'Crikey, what's she got in this thing?' puffed Andrew, manoeuvring it to the bottom of the stair.

'Pre-reading for Healer School.'

Andrew smiled fondly. 'Ah, that takes me back.'

Both men looked at the trunks, then at the stairs – then at each other.

'Is the front door closed?' whispered Draco.

Andrew checked. 'Yep.'

'Sing out if Hermione comes.' Draco took out his shrunken wand, un-shrank it and silently levitated the two heavy trunks upstairs.

'Draco! Come and meet' – Hermione paused in her bouncing along the lobby floor and looked curiously at the two innocent-looking men. 'What's up?'

'Nothing!' they blurted. Draco's wand was behind his back.

She shrugged. 'Draco, come and meet Crookshanks.' She grabbed his non-wand hand and tugged him to the kitchen.

He tossed his wand to Andrew, who deftly caught it and stored it in the umbrella stand by the door.

'Ah. Crookshanks.' Draco knelt down gave the enormous orange kneazle/cat a cautious hand for him to sniff. Whatever Draco's scent was, it must have been like catnip to the furry beast, for his eyes lit up, and he launched himself into Draco's surprised arms, purring like a lawnmower and rubbing his head under Draco's chin in ecstasy.

Jean and Hermione both beamed and said 'Aww!'

'He likes you, Draco! That's so sweet!'

Jean laughed. 'I'd say he's in love! You might have to compete for his affections, dear.'

Draco staggered slightly under the cat's weight. 'As long as he doesn't call me Troy.'

* * *

After a restorative cup of tea, Hermione jumped up from the kitchen table. 'Right! Draco, I'll show you where you're sleeping.'

Draco pulled back his chair and transferred a disappointed Crookshanks from his lap to the floor. Andrew rattled the newspaper and mouthed 'Umbrella stand' as Draco passed by.

Sure enough, Draco located his wand, and shrank it before following Hermione up the stairs.

She was waiting for him, leaning against a door and smiling shyly.

Draco looked around, confused. 'Where are the trunks?'

Hermione's cheeks were pink. 'I, um, used magic to put the trunks in the room. They were pretty heavy, weren't they?'

Oh-ho. Draco fixed her with a superior smirk. 'What happened to 'no magic in the Muggle world?'

She pouted.

Draco grinned lazily and kissed her. 'I'm sure there's more books than clothing in my trunk.'

'I'll have to cast a magical extension to my wardrobe to fit the clothes your mother got me.'

'Hmm.' Draco kissed his way along her jawline, to her earlobe, and started down her neck. 'I think this is the part where we would be told to 'get a room.'

She giggled. 'No sooner said than done.' Taking his hand, she opened the door to her bedroom, and stepped in, looking shyly back at him.

Draco looked around the pretty room, decorated in blue and cream. Firstly and foremostly and most importantly, the double bed was big enough for two. The next thing that took his eye were the books. Almost every available wall space was shelved and practically pulsing with books of all shapes, all sizes, and probably all topics. In the corner near the window seat was a large doll's house. He smiled and headed over to look at it – and discovered that it was stuffed full of books.

Meanwhile, Hermione was counting the luggage and looking confused. Number of trunks: one. It really should be 'Number of trunks: two.' But fifty percent of their belongings have appeared to have not made the trip from the second-floor landing to her bedroom.

Draco noticed Hermione spinning slowly around her room and looking perplexed. 'Lost something, love?'

'Yes.' She stopped turning and looked up at him. 'Where is your trunk?'

He looked around. Damn good question.

'I thought you said you used magic to put the trunks in here?'

'I did! Oh, what were the words I used?' She screwed up her face, looking like an adorable little chipmunk (not the Draco would ever tell her) and thought. 'I said 'put the trunks where we will be sleeping.' I didn't wait to see where they went, though.'

Then her eyes went wide. 'Oh, God no.'

Draco didn't like the sound of this. 'Oh, God no, what?'

Instead of answering, Hermione ran out of the door and down the hall. She opened the next door along and stepped inside. Then she said a very rude word.

'Language, young lady!' came an admonition from downstairs.

Draco followed Hermione's path to the other room. He had an idea what he would find.

It was a very lovely guest bedroom with neutral tones, a double bed, bedside tables, a desk and a wardrobe.

Oh, yes. And his trunk.

* * *

Hermione sat on the couch with her elbows on her knees, gripping her hair in handfuls. 'We're eighteen years old, Mum,' she gritted. 'We can vote – well, I can,' she clarified, looking at Draco, who was trying not to inhale Crookshanks' tail as he swished it lovingly over his new nice-smelling wizard. 'And need I remind you that the age of consent in Great Britain is' –

'We know, dear,' Jean said patiently. 'And we accept that you both have more than likely been intimate together already' –

Draco was suddenly grateful that Crookshanks' considerable plumpness was hiding his red cheeks. Now he knew how Hermione felt at Malfoy Manor when he and Lucius were having much the same discussion, albeit a little less civilised than this one.

'…but,' continued Jean, 'we also understand that sex education is not taught at Hogwarts – that really is a shame, something must be done about that,' she added to Andrew, who harrumphed enthusiastically behind his newspaper. 'So, there's no time to waste!' Jean beamed at them.

'What do you mean?' asked Hermione cautiously. 'And anyway, we were taught magical contraceptive charms.'

'Indeed? How long is their potency?' Jean asked, interested.

Hermione looked to Draco, who shrugged. At least, she thought he shrugged, it was a little hard to tell behind Crookshanks' glorious orangeness.

'How long does it stay active in your body, dear? What happens when you want to have children? Is there a weaning-off time? Do they protect against sexually-transmitted diseases?'

'I don't know, Mum,' cried Hermione, frustrated. She hated not knowing the answers. 'If you let me take a look at my Healer books' –

'We don't need to do that!' Jean said happily. 'Here's what I propose. You and Draco – if you can detach Crookshanks from him, of course – are welcome to sleep in the same room, after you have both listened to my lecture and passed the attendant coursework on Sex Education for Muggles.'

Hermione and Draco stared at her, aghast.

* * *

Draco put the last of his clothes in the closet, then crossed to the bed and sat next to a despondent Hermione. 'At least your mum means well,' he said softly, putting an arm around her. 'Unlike my old man, the most vindictive bastard in England.'

'Did she honestly think we'd be happy listening to my own mother talk about intimate bodily functions – and make us complete a written assignment?'

'Well, I doubt she'd approve of a practical assignment prior to passing.'

Hermione screamed softly in frustration.

'She did say that if we changed our minds at any time, she'll be happy to educate us.'

Hermione fell back on his bed. 'Can you last another two weeks without sex?' she asked dolefully.

He leaned back on his forearm, turning to her. 'The previous two weeks - and the three months before that - taught me something,' he said. 'It wasn't so much the sex I missed. It was going to sleep and waking up without you in my arms.'

Two tears formed in her eyes and slowly trickled down her temples.

'Come here, love.' Draco pulled her into his embrace and held her tight. 'It'll be all right.'

Jean, standing outside Draco's open door with some fresh towels, smiled. She could see what her daughter saw in this rather aloof, icily good-looking boy. He was also a calming foil to Hermione's pepperpot temper.

She carefully laid the towels by the door and tip-toed off.

They still weren't having sex, though.

* * *

Since the evening weather was light and airy, Andrew cranked up the barbeque on the patio for supper. As is always the way of things, Andrew and Draco stood around the sizzling steel monster and sipped beers, while Hermione and Jean prepared some salads in the kitchen.

'This is so much food, Mum,' Hermione commented, chopping gherkins for a potato salad. 'Draco's not that much of a glutton.'

'Oh! I completely forgot, didn't I?' Jean slapped her forehead. 'The Dorchesters are coming over.'

'The Dorchesters? What, all of them?'

'All four of them? Yes, of course.' Jean fossicked in the larder for a tin of beetroot.

Hermione slowly pushed the gherkins into a salad bowl. Dr Dorchester worked in the same superclinic where her mum and dad worked, and were good friends. They had two children: Daisy, who was fifteen, and Noah, who was eighteen. Noah rather vigorously tried to relieve Hermione of the burden of her virginity the previous summer, and may possibly be expecting to pick up where things left off, so to speak.

She glanced through the kitchen window at Draco, who was smiling at something her Dad said. She should warn him.

'Mum, I need to speak to Draco for a minute' –

Ding-dong!

'Oh, dear, they're early!' Jean staggered from the larder with her arms full of produce. 'Can you get the door, dear?'

Hermione dragged her feet to the front door. She supposed it would be rather rude, if not illegal, to _obliviate_ Noah's memories of her. Thinking back to his clumsy, stubby efforts, she shuddered. If there's anyone that could benefit from Mum's sex ed. lecture, it was him.

She sighed, pasted on a smile, and opened the door.

* * *

 **A/N: please stay tuned, readers! Will Draco and Hermione spend another two weeks looking but not touching? Is Draco going to be mobbed by Troy Fendalton's fans every time he steps outside? And who's this Noah dude, anyway?**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Congrats to the readers who figured out who 'Troy Fendalton' represented - just a chap who played Draco in a Harry Potter movie or two… or eight ;)**

 **Everyone's champing at the bit to see what happens when Noah appears on the scene! It's a long chapter, so let's crack on!**

* * *

The first thing Hermione saw when she opened the door were two rudely healthy humans who appeared to be artificially fending off middle age. Hermione let herself be engulfed by Bill and Samantha Dorchester's greeted exclamations and hugs. Judging by the foreign firmness of Samantha's over-tanned chest, Hermione wondered if Bill had taken up plastic surgery.

Next was Daisy, firmly in the dramatic throes of puberty, it would appear. Her long hair was blue, her clothes were floaty, and her nose stud looked, to Hermione, like a real diamond. The plastic surgery must be paying off.

Daisy vacantly returned Hermione's hug and wafted down the hallway to the kitchen.

Hermione stared after her, amazed at how much change a year can bring about. Last summer, fourteen-year-old, pony-tailed Daisy was galloping around in shorts and a t-shirt, chasing an irritated Crooks and talking nineteen to the dozen to anyone who got within six feet of her.

'Ah, Hermione,' exclaimed a pompous voice behind her. ''Reunited, and it feels so good.'' *****

Oh, God. Now she'll never get that cheesy song out of her head. Summoning up a professional smile, she turned around to face the final Dorchester. 'Noah! Hello.'

He stood in the doorway, wearing a salmon pink polo shirt and sand-coloured cargo shorts, smiling smarmily and holding out both his arms. Hermione eyed them cautiously, but good manners prevented her from backing away and high-tailing it to the patio.

'How are you?' she asked, stepping into his embrace. 'Oof!'

Noah's arms clamped around her like a vice and lifted her off the floor. 'It's so good to see you again!' he brayed. 'God, you look hot.'

'C-can't b-breathe…' she wheezed.

'Oh! Sorry.' Noah loosened his embrace, but didn't let her go. Looking up, Hermione only just dodged a sloppy kiss from wet, pink lips by wrenching her head to one side. He made landfall on her cheek, instead.

Resisting, with great effort, the temptation to rub her cheek raw and then sanitise it, she stepped back and looked at him. 'You've gotten taller. Good for you!' she finished lamely.

Noah preened, and brushed his tawny, preppy-cut hair out of his green eyes. 'Taller, fitter, stronger – you name it, girl, I've developed. In every way.' He winked at her knowingly.

Hermione wasn't quite sure what that wink was meant to convey. If he was talking about his todger, she didn't think there was anything more that could be done for the poor little thing.

'Well,' she said, 'come on in. There's someone I'd like you to meet.'

Noah, as all the Grangers quickly learned, wasn't big on listening to anyone except himself. 'Have you got your A levels back yet?' he asked. 'Mine were fantastic. Of course, Dad's not happy that I didn't get into medical school, but seriously, who wants to study for another five to ten years or more?' He shuddered.

'Well,' began Hermione.

'Some friends and I are going into the wine business, it's really exciting,' he continued proudly. We'll travel around Europe, testing wines from the best vineyards to bring back to the UK and sell to restaurants. Dad's refusing to invest in it, which is really pathetic of him, you know. Keeps banging on about business models and market share and other such bullshit. In fact, I was hoping your father' –

'Noah!' Jean spied her daughter and that silly boy Noah at the entrance to the kitchen. 'How lovely to see you again, dear. Goodness, haven't you grown?'

Noah paused in his monologue to draw breath and kiss Jean on the cheek. 'How are you, Jean?' he boomed. 'You look really well for a woman of your years.'

Jean's smile diminished by a few watts.

'Would you like a drink?' she asked between clenched teeth. 'Beer, or' –

'Beer? Gawd no, how common,' Noah replied, laughing heartily and not realising that no-one else was joining in. 'No, a wine would suit me best.'

Hermione waited for the 'please,' but it was apparent it wouldn't be forthcoming. 'I'll get one,' she said. 'Red or white?'

Noah, who was preening in the reflection of the china hutch's glass doors, said cheerfully 'Oh, I think a white would do in this weather, eh?'

Hermione rolled her eyes and headed to the drinks fridge, which lived in the utility room. She carefully poured a glass of wine, resisted the urge to spit in it, and carried it back to London's Biggest Tosser, a.k.a. Noah Dorchester.

'Cheers.' He took the wineglass, peered at the liquid, swirled it around and gave it an enthusiastic sniff. 'Ah,' he said dramatically, 'a lovely mineral and lime aroma with a crunchy, acidic palate.'

Jean and Hermione looked blank. They weren't entirely sure who he was speaking to.

He took a healthy sip and swirled it around his mouth. He looked around for a place to spit it out, but as the Granger's kitchen was inconveniently lacking a spittoon, he swallowed, instead. 'An attractive fullness to the texture. Resolves well with a tight finish. Oh, yes, this is a lovely Australian Sauvignon Blanc, Hermione.'

'Actually, it's a pinot grigio. From Argentina.'

Jean clattered some cutlery together to cover the snort of laughter that escaped from her mouth.

'Really?' For the briefest of moments, Noah looked uncertain. But he quickly got over it. 'You sure?'

Hermione smiled her Slytherin smile. 'Maybe I had a moment and completely forgot how to read.'

Noah nodded. 'I'm sure it happens to many women at their time of the month,' he said condescendingly. 'Shall I have a look?'

Following Noah to the drinks fridge, Hermione's shrunk wand burned a hole in her back pocket. She was usually against violence in any form, but perhaps she could set her principles aside for this one, well-deserved case…

* * *

Meanwhile, Draco was experiencing the other Dorchesters. First cab off the rank was Daisy the Wraith, who boggled at him, open of mouth and wide of eye. 'Omigod…' she whispered. Then: 'OMIGOD!' she shrieked. 'Y-you're Troy Fendalton! Omigod omigod omigod omigod omigod omigod omigod omigod omigod…'

Et cetera and so forth.

Andrew, brandishing the tongs at the grilling sausages, looked at Daisy with mild alarm. 'Should I fetch a paper bag for her to blow into?' he asked Bill.

Bill cracked open a beer. 'Nah, she'll be fine.'

Draco waited for a pause in the 'omigods' to explain that he wasn't Troy Fendalton, but (in his opinion) was a far cooler person called Draco.

Daisy fell silent, tears of adoration brimming in her large, expressive eyes. 'You look so much like him,' she whispered.

Samantha stepped up to the plate, practically elbowing her daughter out of the way in her haste to enter Draco's breathing zone. 'Draco, hi, so lovely to meet you. I'm Samantha,' she purred in a low voice before wrapping her skinny, bronzed arms tightly around his neck and practically puncturing two holes in Draco's chest with her titanium-hard nipples and almost-solid breasts.

Initially overwhelmed by being full-body hugged by a complete stranger with very odd breasts who may or may not have deliberately pressed herself up against his crotch, he quickly recovered and took Samantha's hand, kissing it. 'Likewise, Samantha,' he said, smiling politely.

She stared at her kissed hand, before turning to Daisy in glee. 'Omigod, that's so romantic!' she gushed to her disappointed, pouty daughter.

If Daisy's mum was oblivious to her daughter's mood, Draco wasn't.

(And that just goes to show how far he's come in such a short time.)

'I forgot to greet you properly, didn't I?' he said sheepishly to Daisy, despite the fact that the opportunity was hijacked by her mother. He held out his hand. 'May I?'

Daisy's pout disappeared and a beautiful smile took its place. Shyly, she held her hand out. He gave her an appropriately watered-down panty-dropping grin before taking her hand and gently touching it with his lips. He winked as he let her hand go.

Daisy cradled her kissed hand with the other one. 'I'm never washing this hand again,' she whispered, wide-eyed.

Samantha snorted and took a good slug of wine.

The Dorchester patriarch ambled up, beer in one hand, sporting an over-bronzed tan, luminous teeth and luscious, dark hair that even Draco could tell was dyed. 'Bill's the name,' he said cheerfully. 'I work in the same medical facility as Andrew and Jean.'

'Nice to meet you, sir,' Draco said, shaking his hand.

'So, what brings you to the Grangers?' Bill asked.

'I'm Hermione's boyfriend,' he said with quiet pride. 'We're staying for a couple of weeks before we start our further study.'

'Boyfriend?' demanded Samantha. 'How surprising.'

Draco was quickly learning not to like the lady with the concrete tits. 'Why is that surprising?' he asked with a polite but wintry smile.

Samantha was going to say 'Isn't it obvious? Look at you! Look at her!' but at the last second decided to change tack. 'Well,' she flustered, 'I was under the impression dear Hermione was in a relationship with our son Noah.' She batted her false eyelashes innocently.

Out of her mother's sight - not that Samantha paid much attention to her anyway – Draco saw Daisy roll her eyes and pretend to stick her finger down her throat.

Noah? thought Draco. The name doesn't ring a bell.

He tried not to feel jealous. He knew he was the last person on the planet who should be jealous about one ex-boyfriend of Hermione's, when the number of girls that he'd shagged (plus Nott) numbered well into the, er…. let's see… carry the one…

There was a lot. Let's leave it at that.

Getting back to this Noah. He shouldn't be jealous. He had no need to be jealous.

Hell yeah, he was jealous.

* * *

'Oh, look! There's my darling boy now!' Samantha trilled, waving a bangle-jangling arm at the kitchen door.

Draco turned and watched as an utter buffoon in a pink shirt and what looked to be articles of rubber attached to his bare feet swanned into view, holding a wine glass in a limp hand. 'Andrew, hello!' the buffoon boomed, flip-flopping his way to the grill and extending his free hand for a hearty top-handed handshake. 'How's the dental business treating you?'

'Well,' began Andrew.

'Ah! We have a new arrival!' honked Noah, as he zeroed in on the blonde Adonis, who was sipping a craft beer and minding his own business.

'We?' Draco wondered. Is this prick already marking out his territory?

'Noah Dorchester!' announced Noah Dorchester, gripping Draco's right hand in an almost bone-pulverising handshake. 'And you are…?'

Fucking annoyed, thought Draco. 'Draco Malfoy,' he said neutrally.

'Drago, lovely,' beamed Noah. 'And what do you do?'

'Do?' Draco was struggling to understand Muggle English again.

Hermione popped out from behind Noah, clutching a very large glass of wine and looking like one of her migraines was approaching. 'It's Draco, Noah. He's going to study chemistry and become a teacher,' she said faux-brightly. 'Noah, Draco is my' -

'Teacher?' Noah brayed. 'Gawd, couldn't think of anything worse, old chum!' He laughed heartily. 'Know anything about wine, do you?'

'Well,' began Draco.

'Fascinating industry, fascinating, don't you know! As a matter of fact...'

Off he went on a rambling monologue that soon had Draco and Hermione bored to absolute tears. They quickly finished their drinks and telegraphed Hermione's dad with their eyes to bring over refills.

Samantha stood next to Jean, watching her set out food, plates and cutlery on their ancient, weathered picnic table. 'He's such an enterprising young man,' she said proudly to Jean, who had her hands full with salad bowls, fresh bread and condiments. 'Has quite an exciting venture set up with some chums from school – something in wine. He's incredibly knowledgeable. Bill refuses to invest, it's so vexing.' She pouted and cast another covetous glance at Draco's arse through her wine glass.

'Vexing,' agreed Jean, shortly.

* * *

Well, readers: now seems like a good time to dip into the thoughts of the assembled, while the steaks finish resting!

 **Draco**

Hermione was in a relationship with this twat? Oh, Hermione, Hermione. Surely you could have done better for yourself? Oh, wait! You have. Yeah, that's right, Noah, me old mate. _I_ was her first, not you. And I'll be her only, if I have anything to do with it.

Mental note – stay away from Samantha and her chest. Those nipples are liable to poke an eye out. And did she try to get an imprint of my dick when she hugged me?

 **Hermione**

What on earth was I thinking last year? Was I so desperate for any bloke to give me the time of day and treat me like a normal girl that I was going to give my virginity to Noah? Thank God he ejaculated the second he saw my bare breasts. Oh Lord, I am so embarrassed! What's Draco going to do when he finds out?

Well, he'll either go ape, or laugh so hard he'll wet himself. Not sure which option I would prefer, to be honest.

Poor Daisy. I know what it's like to not fit in. School was hell before Hogwarts. I should hang out with her for a bit. It will take my mind off wanting to hex Noah's chest hair purple.

Samantha had better keep her claws off Draco. I've seen the way she looks at him, like he was a man-sized chocolate-mint Cornetto. Bloody woman ought to be ashamed of herself. He's the same age as her son!

 **Noah**

Ah, they're hanging off my every word. Struck dumb, even! Wonder if this Drago pup has any money? His haircut looks expensive, even if his clothes aren't from a label I recognise. Why is he here, anyway? Oh well, who cares.

My word, hasn't Hermione grown up in the past year? The tits on her! And that freakish mess she calls hair seems to have settled down nicely. Imagine how photogenic I would look with her by my side! She'll be an asset to the business, I'm sure. Hugo, Aloysius and Monty will be dead jealous when they find out I'm boffing her, haha!

 **Daisy**

Draco's absolutely GORGEOUS. And he's so nice! He's so like Troy it's scary. Hermione's so lucky. I'll have to ask him for a photo. There's no way the girls at school would believe me, otherwise, the bitches. In fact, I could even pretend that it _is_ Troy. They'll never know. Then they'll be dead jealous and want to be my friend, and I'll have someone to talk to.

God, Mum's an embarrassment, making cow eyes at a bloke young enough to be her son. And Noah. What a Grade A, five-star prick. It's humiliating being his sister; all the girls in my class give me grief about what a twat he is. Which is true, but I don't need to hear it from them.

I'm certain I'm adopted. I must renew my efforts to search the house for adoption papers when I get home.

 **Bill**

I should probably warn Andrew that the boy will try to nag him into investing in his 'business venture,' a.k.a. a five-star gap year flitting around Europe in the lap of luxury, funded by some fool with too much money.

My word, aren't Samantha's jubblies looking spot on? Especially compared to Jean's, poor lass. She should really get hers done. I'll even give her mate's rates.

As for Hermione – now, there's a pair of breasts you'd be proud to hang on your consulting office wall as an example of perfect specimens! Wonder if she'll let me photograph them? Best to ask without the boyfriend hovering around. He doesn't look the open-minded type.

Where's Daisy? Ah! There she is, on the swing. Funny how invisible a girl can be with blue hair. Poor thing looks sad. I know! I'll give her breast implants for her sixteenth birthday. That always cheers a woman up. Well. Cheers me up, at any rate.

 **Samantha**

Funny how you see a movie star and you think 'Oh, just another pretty boy with cotton wool for brains and abs you could grate cheese on.' But seeing him in the flesh – well, his Doppelgänger, at least – makes one re-evaluate their qualities.

It's obvious that this Draco (now there's a sexy name!) is wasted on that bookwormy know-it-all girl. He needs someone with more experience, someone who can show him things. Teach him things. Guide him through the mysteries of womankind. Guide him inside my hot, wet – oh. Where was I?

He's obviously mesmerised by my new breasts. I saw him looking after we hugged. And as for his 'assets' below his belt - oh dear, I think I feel a hot flush coming on…

 **Andrew**

Isn't it funny how when Bill and I talk about getting the families together for a meal, it always ends up happening here?

Noah has certainly turned out to be a chip off his mother's block. Both have the hide of a rhinoceros. I admit, I wasn't that keen when I heard that Hermione had taken up with a young wizard with little Muggle experience who either ignored, baited or bullied her about her marks or appearance for six years straight, but if Noah is the typical example of an eligible boy that Hermione could otherwise date, I'll take Blondie any day.

 **Jean**

I must tell Andrew that I am only capable of tolerating Samantha for one day a year. I'm sure he'll understand.

Thank God Draco's here for the silly woman to salivate over, although I feel sorry for the poor boy. And poor Daisy. She looks so forlorn, sitting on the garden swing and playing on her phone. I'll sit her next to me at the table; we can have a chat. Actually, I'll do one better – I'll sit her next to Draco. And put Mummy Dearest at the opposite end of the table.

Right! Steaks are ready. Let's eat!

* * *

It was almost magic how Jean had everyone quickly sitting in her pre-allocated spots. Daisy looked like she'd won the lottery when a grinning Draco sat next to her and spread out a paper napkin on her lap like she was at the Ritz. Hermione sat opposite. Bill sat on Draco's other side, causing a little concern for Hermione as he appeared to be looking speculatively at her chest in between filling up his plate with food.

Unfortunately, Noah sat next to Hermione, and a sulking Samantha sat next to him. Andrew and Jean sat at each end of the table.

'Lovely spread, Grangers! You've outdone yourselves,' Bill said happily.

'Thank you, Bill,' Jean smiled. With no contribution from you, I would add – except I'm too polite.

It wasn't long before Noah commenced the entertainment.

'This is a lovely claret, Andrew!' he boomed, pronouncing it 'claray'. He held his wine glass up to the light and swirled it. 'Those Provence clarets have a certain unique bouquet, don't you think?'

Andrew, a beer drinker, shrugged and carried on eating.

Draco, however, looked at Noah like he was missing something important in his upstairs compartment and said 'Bordeaux.'

Noah, already halfway through his next sentence, faltered. 'Sorry, Drago?'

'Draco,' he said evenly. 'Claret comes from Bordeaux, not Provence.'

Noah laughed condescendingly. 'I'll have you know, dear chap, that I'm somewhat of an expert in wines,' he said. 'I'm certain you will find that clarets come from Provence. And you're pronouncing 'claret' wrong, too. 'It's 'claray.' The 't' is silent when it is at the end of the word in the French language.'

Samantha looked on proudly.

'I can look it up on my phone,' said Daisy helpfully.

'It's okay, love,' Draco smiled, picking up his own glass of the same wine. Turning to Noah, he said lightly 'I know for a fact that claret comes from Bordeaux because my family's company has a vineyard there. Plus one in Provence. And another in Burgundy. I've visited them many times.'

He took a sip of the 'lovely claray,' which Jean found in a bargain bin at Tesco, and tried to hide his wince. 'And it is pronounced 'clarette.' The term is generally used by Americans, not the French.'

Noah was struck dumb.

Hermione and Jean tried to hide their smiles behind forkfuls of food. Daisy's hero-worship of Draco soared. Andrew's estimation of Draco significantly improved, and Bill kept on eating and staring at Hermione's chest.

Samantha looked like she was about to have an orgasm at the picnic table, despite her darling child being so firmly put in his place. Hot, well-hung _and_ family money? she thought hungrily. That's it. I'm calling the divorce lawyers tomorrow. Step aside, Miss girly-swot. You're no match for me and my 'girls.' She jiggled her 'girls,' warming them up.

'Well, that's – that's – that's – marvellous!' cried Noah. 'I knew, from the moment I saw you, that we would have a deep connection!'

Draco looked revolted. As well he might.

'You, Drago, have the privilege of being the first to join my company as a valued client!'

As Noah rabbitted on about 'opportunity this' and 'exciting potential for that', Draco tried to recall the highlights, if they can be called that, of Noah's earlier monologue. Selling wine to restaurants. As if it hadn't been done before.

Draco ate his meal and nodded at the right moments until Noah ran out of business whiz-words. Then he said 'I'm afraid there are three obstacles, old chap. I don't run the family business – my father does. _And_ if you want to approach my father,' he continued, before Noah could interrupt, 'he'll need to see some evidence about the long-term viability and profitability of your enterprise. Other backers, existing funding, business models, profitability forecasts, confirmed contacts with restauranteurs, you know, that sort of thing.'

Noah didn't, but pretended he did.

'And finally, we have long-established relationships with reputable suppliers that trade our wines to the finest restaurants in Europe, so…' Draco shrugged, and swapped his revolting wine for another beer.

Never had Hermione loved Draco so much as she did then.

* * *

After dinner, the folks found themselves separated into two groups. Daisy, Draco and Hermione (plus Crooks, who was never far from Draco) sat on the lawn by the swing, where Daisy was trying to teach Draco how to play a game on her phone. The adults and Noah sat at the picnic table, where Noah, ego still in nick despite Draco's puncturing of it, attempted to convince Andrew to invest in his company. Andrew, Jean and Bill kept drinking. It muffled Noah's voice.

'No, no, Draco, the other way! Oh, no, you're dead again!' Daisy and Hermione laughed. Draco looked down his nose at them, then stuck it up in the air.

'I can't believe you don't have a mobile phone!' Daisy marvelled. 'I thought everyone had one these days.'

'Er, well…' hedged Draco.

Hermione came to the rescue. 'We weren't allowed them in school. So, Draco didn't see any point in getting one.'

Daisy nodded, satisfied. 'Is there any ice cream?' she asked hopefully.

Hermione grinned. Daisy was so much more like the happy child she had known all these years. 'We've got some Magnum ice creams in the freezer; fancy one of those?'

'Oh, yes please!' Daisy's eyes lit up. 'Are you going to have one, Draco?'

Draco, who had turned the phone upside down to see if the game made more sense that way, said (to Hermione, as he had no clue what a magnum was, except in champagne terms) 'Do I?'

'Yes, you do,' she laughed. 'I'll get them.'

She hopped up, brushing grass off her lovely derrière as she headed inside, thus distracting Draco both from his new game and the fact that Bill got up from the picnic table as Hermione passed by.

* * *

The ice creams were kept in the freezer part of the drinks fridge. Hermione, as we know, was rather wanting in the height department, so she stood on her tip-toes and reached as far in to the top freezer as she could, scrabbling for the desserts with her head facing away from the utility room door.

She squealed when she felt two hands grope her breasts and jiggle them. 'Stop it, Draco,' she giggled, then turned around.

Then she screamed.

* * *

Outside, Draco paused the game and looked up in confusion.

'What's wrong?' asked Daisy.

'Did you hear something?' he asked.

She shook her head.

Uncertain, Draco went back to the game.

* * *

Meanwhile, Hermione had angrily shoved Bill up against the utility room door and only just prevented herself from whipping her wand out and hexing him a good one between the legs. 'Doctor Dorchester, what the hell are you doing?' she stormed.

Bill was a little surprised to see such a little lady act so ferociously. 'It's all perfectly fine, my dear,' he assured her. 'I was just checking if you padded your bra, you see.'

Hermione gaped. 'Why the hell would you want to know something like that?' she snapped. 'And I don't, by the way.'

Bill's eyes lit up. 'Because, dear girl, you have exquisite breasts!' he exclaimed happily. 'Women all around would give their eye teeth to have breasts like yours, and I can make their breast dreams come true! All I need to do is take some photographs for my clinic, and' –

'You want to photograph my bare breasts? Is that what you're saying?' she whispered in disbelief.

'Yes, exactly! I've got my phone right here' – Bill dug around in his pocket, only to find himself shoved up against the drinks fridge. Hermione stood on tip-toes again, grabbed his shirt lapels and got in his face.

'You listen to me, Doctor Dorchester,' she said with icy calm. 'There is no way on earth that I will let you photograph any part of my body without my consent, and I'm telling you now, it will be a cold day in hell before you get that consent from me. You're a pervert, Doctor. You have proven this to be true by molesting me not one minute ago. You will leave me the hell alone, from now until the day Gabriel blows his trumpet, otherwise I will tell your wife. And the General Medical Council.'

Bill, who feared the GMC far more than he did his wife, raised his hands in surrender. 'I apologise, Hermione,' he stuttered. 'I made an error of judgement. It won't happen again.'

She nodded shortly, and stepped aside to let the pathetic man scuttle away.

* * *

Hermione sat back down on the lawn with a rather dazed expression on her face.

'Forgotten something?' asked Draco.

'What?' she said vaguely. Then – 'Oh damn. The ice creams.'

'You okay?' he asked quietly.

'Yeah,' she smiled. 'Can you come with me? It's hard for me to reach them.'

Daisy enviously watched the pair amble off, hand in hand, to the kitchen. She hoped to find a man who would love her the way Draco loved Hermione.

He didn't even need to be half as good-looking.

* * *

By the time the ice creams were demolished, Daisy had finally convinced Draco that he couldn't live without a mobile phone. 'We'll have to go shopping tomorrow, love,' he said to Hermione.

She frowned. 'But we're going sight-seeing tomorrow. I've planned it all out. I have a chart.'

Draco smiled to himself. You can take the girl out of the school…

'I'll get it and show you. Maybe we can move some things around.' She hopped up, and disappeared into the house again.

A minute later, Draco felt the sun disappear behind the surrounding houses, and shivered. 'I'm going to grab a sweater,' he told Daisy. Are you warm enough?'

'Yes, Draco,' she said dreamily.

Draco climbed up, and followed Hermione inside.

* * *

In her bedroom, Hermione located her chart, but was unpleasantly surprised for the second time today to find, when she turned around, another unwelcome Dorchester blocking her way out the room.

'Noah, I don't have time for this,' she said tiredly. 'Draco's expecting me.'

Noah's face twisted in confusion. 'Who is this Drago, and what's he doing here, anyway?'

She sighed. ' _Draco_ is my boyfriend.'

'Really?' Noah looked even more confused. 'I thought I was.'

'What?' Hermione couldn't believe it. 'Of course we're not!'

'But we made love,' Noah stubbornly insisted. 'In this very room.'

Hermione buried her head in her hands.

* * *

Meanwhile, Draco had yet to make it up the stairs, because he was waylaid by the busty Samantha in the utility room.

Well, not quite so much 'waylaid' as 'shoved up against the drinks fridge with one hand on his shirt collar, the other between his legs and her lips firmly clamped to his mouth.'

'Mrs Dorchester,' Draco began calmly, when she paused for breath.

'Call me Samantha,' she purred, letting her fingers do the walking. 'Or mommy.' She winked.

Draco grabbed her lower wrist before her fingers walked off too far. He tried for tact. 'Samantha, you're a beautiful woman, and, if I must be honest, a year ago I would have loved to have taken you to bed, but I'm with Hermione now, very happily so, and there is nothing that will break the bond we have.'

Samantha pouted and thrust her boobs further towards Draco's chest. He winced when her nipples made contact with his ribs. 'I'm a woman of the world, Draco,' she countered, throwing him a sultry look (that in reality made her look like an overly made-up duck). 'You'll tire of her prim and proper ways, I know you will. I can give you adventure, darling, and...' – she thought, but couldn't really come up with any other perks – 'lots of other things, too!'

On a perverse level, Draco was almost enjoying this. Certainly, the fact that this mutton-dressed-as-lamb had the gall to think she could oust Hermione from his heart was fucking hilarious. 'What about your children? How would they feel about you taking a lover your son's age?'

'Pfft. He's going to Europe to faff about vineyards. He won't care.'

There was a pause, before Draco reminded her that she had, in fact, two children.

'I'll send her to boarding school!' she cried. 'Bill can pay for it! We'll never see her except for a few weeks a year!'

Right, thought Draco. Stop the world; I want to get off.

He assumed the Malfoy Look and quelled the silly old bint with it.

'Mrs Dorchester,' he said in his iciest Lucius voice, 'I am flattered by your attention, but I am in a happy, committed and serious relationship with another woman. There can be nothing between us - now, or ever. I must ask you to let go of my crotch and let me leave this room.'

Dumbfounded, Samantha unhooked her fingers from his pants and stepped side. Draco kept up the Look until he eased past her and out of the utility room. Then he sprinted for the stairs.

Still in the utility room, Samantha fanned herself. God, that voice. That look! She hadn't felt this wet in ages. She couldn't wait to get home and ride her vibrator, pretending it was Draco's huge cock that was jack-hammering between her legs.

* * *

'No,' said Hermione for what seemed like the hundredth time, 'we didn't 'make love,' despite what you've probably told your friends.'

Noah looked a tad guilty at that.

She snarled silently. 'We made out, you came when you saw my breasts, and I did not come at all. That's not sex. Not by a long shot.'

An ugly sneer crossed Noah's face. 'And I suppose you've given it up to him? To a fella called Draco? What sort of pretentious, poncy name is that, anyway?'

'It's Latin for dragon, and a constellation in the Northern Hemisphere.'

This helpful explanation came from Draco, who was leaning against the door jamb with his arms crossed and looking very annoyed at the foreign object in Hermione's bedroom.

Noah was a fool, but not entirely stupid. There was an icy look on Drago's face that looked like he might be capable of just about anything. Still, he couldn't resist one more go. 'What's he got that I don't?' he whined to Hermione. 'I'm a good catch. Mummy says so.'

'An eight-and-a-half-inch cock and three vineyards in France, for starters,' snapped Hermione. 'Now get out.'

Draco closed the door on the vanquished Noah, and drew Hermione into his arms. 'It's closer to nine inches, you know,' he murmured.

Hermione smiled into his shirt. 'I didn't want to make him suicidal.'

'And the vineyards are technically Father's.'

'Even if you were destitute, I would still love you,' she whispered.

He held her tight.

* * *

Later, when the Granger residence had been relieved of Dorchesters, Andrew, Jean, Hermione and Draco sat in the living room, looking shell-shocked and nursing very large brandies.

'I move that we never invite that family for a meal again,' said Jean. 'Except for Daisy. She still seems unaffected by the Dorchester genes. Or whatever her mother has.'

'Seconded,' grunted Andrew.

'Thirded,' sighed Hermione.

Draco didn't know what jeans had to do with the conversation, but he heartily approved of the motion. Even though he wasn't a Granger, they accepted he'd been through enough today to qualify for voting rights. And they didn't even know what Samantha tried on with him. 'Fourthed.'

They all drank to that.

* * *

 ***** Peaches and Herb. 'Reunited.' By Dino Fekaris and Freddie Perren. _2 Hot._ Polydor, 1979. 7-inch single.

* * *

 **A/N: Sight-seeing in London next for Draco and Hermione! What could possibly happen?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi everyone! Thank you so much for your feedback, they really make me smile. It's great to see you all enjoying the story - it's always a challenge creating a sequel that's as enjoyable as the original, so I'm extra happy that you're having a good time. Keep em' coming, please, and tell a friend!**

* * *

Morning.

Lying in his lonely bed, Draco opened an eye to discover the sun streaming through the window, Crookshanks kneading his pillow and a happy Hermione bouncing up and down on the mattress.

Not, however, in the way he would have preferred.

'You're full of beans this morning,' he grumbled.

'Of course!' Hermione kept bouncing. 'It's sight-seeing day! It's going to be so exciting!'

Draco groaned and rolled over, only to have his nostrils filled with orange fur. He sneezed and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He held out a hand to Hermione. 'You're beginning to make me sea-sick, love.'

'Sorry,' she smiled. She took his hand and sat next to him, ousting an indignant Crooks, who jumped off the bed, stomped around it and jumped back on to sit on Draco's other side. 'Good morning, Mr Malfoy.'

'Good morning, woman I love.' He smiled sleepily, drew her in for a one-armed hug and dropped a kiss on her forehead.

With his free hand, Draco patted Crooks, who immediately revved up his purr. Turning back to Hermione, he said 'You seem very excited for someone who lives in London and has seen everything a dozen times already.'

'That's because I'm excited for you! There are so many things to see and do, and it will be really fun to see London through the eyes of a non-Muggle-born wizard.' She kissed his cheek. 'That's where you come in.'

He raised an aristocratic eyebrow. 'You mean, you're using me for a social experiment?'

She cocked her head and thought. 'You know? I would never have thought of it that way.' She gasped with delight. 'Maybe I could write a paper on it for my Healer's course? Oh, but to do it properly, I'd have to dump you somewhere in London and expect you to visit all the destinations and find your way out by yourself without using magic, and' –

Draco clamped a hand on her mouth.

'I was just kidding,' she grinned, when he cautiously removed it.

Draco looked sceptical. The woman had a very singular focus when it came to education.

'I'll make breakfast if you want to have a shower,' she suggested.

In reply, Draco closed the bedroom door with his wand and jumped, _au naturel_ , on top of Hermione. 'Are your parents home?' he whispered, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

'Dad's gone to work, but Mum's still here.'

Draco dropped his head in disappointment, burying his head between Hermione's breasts. Which were clothed, unfortunately.

Meanwhile, Crooks had developed an interest in the lightly golden, sculpted perfection that was Draco's arse and slunk his way over for an inspection.

Hermione wrapped her arms around Draco. 'Should we listen to Mum's sex lecture?' she asked carefully.

Draco thought. 'Not yet,' he said thoughtfully. Then: 'Ow!'

He and Hermione glared at Crooks, who had unsheathed a claw and had given Draco's bum an experimental poke. He stared innocently back.

Hermione wriggled out from under Draco. 'I'll see you downstairs. C'mon, Crooks!'

She strolled out of the bedroom. Crooks ignored her.

Draco looked at the furry orange beastie. 'Are you allowed to have sex?' he asked.

Going by the look on Crooks' face, he didn't think so.

* * *

Draco gathered up his clothes and towel and headed to the bathroom he shared with Hermione. Starting the shower, he shrugged himself out of his robe (which he wore for the sole purpose of not wanting Andrew and/or Jean to bump into him in the hall and see for themselves what their daughter already has first-hand knowledge of), dropped it to the floor and answered the call of nature.

He cautiously returned to the robe, which was writhing about on the floor, lifted it up, discovered Crookshanks underneath it, tossed him out of the bathroom and hopped into the shower.

After washing all there was to wash, he took his semi-hard cock in his hand and stroked it into hardness.

At least, he tried to stroke it into hardness.

But hardness was having a hard time achieving its desired state.

Draco was alarmed. This hasn't happened before.

He leaned back against the shower tiles and sighed. It was the house. Or, more specifically, Hermione's parents. Although they were lovely and well-meaning people, the thought of having sex with their cherised daughter under their roof, likely just a few feet away from their bedroom, made Big Drake the One-Eyed Snake's interest fall a little flat.

What were he, Hermione and Big Drake going to do, then?

* * *

'Have you got everything, dear?' Jean asked from the kitchen doorway.

'I think so, Mum! I'll just check.' In the hallway, Hermione heaved her backpack onto the side table and pulled out its contents. 'Purse, phone, bottled water, map of the city, sunscreen, mini first aid kit, hat, sunglasses, snacks, sight-seeing schedule, sweatshirt in case it gets cold. And wand. Yup. Got everything!'

Draco looked on in amazement at the items that kept coming and coming out of the backpack.

Hermione crammed everything back in and slung the bag over her shoulders. She looked Draco up and down, taking in his jeans and two-toned, slim-fit slate shirt a little more hungrily than she should. He preened in her admiring gaze. Until she got to his feet.

'Are you going to wear those?'

He looked down at his black oxfords. 'Considering that they are on my feet, I believe I will be, yes.'

'Don't you have any trainers?'

'I don't know. What are they?'

'Well, they're like what I'm wearing.'

Draco looked at Hermione's feet and successfully supressed a shudder. She appeared to be wearing a type of shoe with cloth uppers connected to soles of that rubbery-looking material. The upper parts were coloured dark blue, light blue, pink and purple. Blue laces. In all, they were, according to Draco's wizard-honed fashion sense, fucking disgusting. And they clashed with her faded denim skirt and unbleached linen peasant top.

'No love, I don't have any of those… things,' he said, sounding a little too like Lucius than was comfortable.

She pursed her lips. 'We're going to be doing a lot of walking,' she said doubtfully.

'I'll be fine. Come on, let's go.'

'But you could transfigure them' –

'No.'

'Well, do you have a hat?' she asked exasperatedly.

Draco looked down his Malfoy nose at her. 'Woman, hideous glow-in-the-dark shoes and articles of clothing that hide my lustrous hair are not items that will ever darken the doorway of a Malfoy's wardrobe. I hope I have made myself clear.'

She sighed and left him to his stupid Malfoy pride.

* * *

'Oh, goody! There's space right outside Buckingham Palace!' Hermione dragged a rather white and shaking Draco along Birdcage Walk, heading to the magnificent London residence of Queen Elizabeth II, where they were going to watch the Changing of the Guard.

When she found a spot near the entrance to the Palace, she put down her backpack and looked at her boyfriend properly for the first time since leaving the Underground station.

'Oh, my God! Are you okay?'

Draco leaned against the Palace's railings and closed his eyes. Cold sweat trickled from his temples. 'Hermione. If you love me, you will never, ever, make me enter the belly of an underground monster ever again.'

Hermione scrabbled for a bottle of water and held it out to him. 'Wow. I didn't know you were claustrophobic. I'm sorry, hon. We can take buses instead.'

Draco took a large swig of water and splashed some on his face. 'I didn't know I was claustrophobic, either. Are there potions – er, medicines for it?'

'No,' she replied sadly. 'It's one of those things that's in your head. I understand that one type of cure is immersion therapy.'

'Oh? How does that work?'

'Well, you keep riding the Underground over and over and over' –

'Yeah okay, Granger, I get it. No thanks.'

He handed the bottle back to Hermione, who put it back in her bag and took out her phone to check for messages.

'Excuth me?'

Draco looked around for the source of the little voice, to no avail. Then he looked down, and saw the cutest little girl with nut-brown hair tied in two long pigtails, freckled cheeks and the hugest, greenest eyes he'd ever seen.

'Uh, me?' Draco asked.

The pig-tails bobbed up and down. The little girl blushed (which made her cute little cheeks a million times cuter) and she scuffed her shoe on the ground. 'Will you let my Mummy take a picture of me and you togevver, pleath?' she whispered-lisped shyly.

Oh, right. He's Troy Fendalton's doppelgänger. Funny how one tends to forget these sorts of things.

He glanced helplessly at Hermione, who registered the cute little darling staring adoringly up at her boyfriend. Over the sound of her ovaries dancing the Fandango, she whispered 'You might as well. She'll dissolve into tears if you tell her you're not Troy, and she probably wouldn't believe you, anyway. And then you'll feel like' – she mouthed the word 'shit.'

Oh, cripes. Sometimes he wished he could be a selfish prat again. Life was simpler then.

However, it was also Hermione-free, so that wouldn't do.

Turning back to the little girl, he knelt down, smiled and said 'Okay, but just one photo, all right?'

'Yaaaayyyy!' She skipped back to a nearby fashionable yummy mummy who had a baby strapped to her front in a carry wrap. 'He said yeth, Mummy!'

'Shh, don't wake Timothy,' Yummy Mummy gently admonished. 'Okay, just let me get my phone.' She fished around inside Timothy's wrap until she extracted a silver-backed phone roughly the size of the baby's head.

'Thanks so much for doing this,' she smiled, ushering her adorably excited daughter towards Draco. 'She's such a fan.' Then, obviously remembering that many of Troy Fendalton's movies were not altogether appropriate for children, she stammered 'She only watches your parental-guidance-recommended movies. Under strict parental guidance.'

Draco looked swiftly to Hermione for a translation.

Seeing her nod and smile, he in turn nodded and smiled at Yummy Mummy. 'Well - that's great.'

Someone should write a Muggle-Wizard lexicon, he thought.

He crouched down again next to the darling little girl and put an arm lightly around her tiny shoulder. Her face lit up, and before Draco knew it, she'd wrapped her little arms around as much of him as she could and kissed his cheek.

 _Click!_

Mummy checked her phone. 'Oh, that's so lovely!' she cooed.

She showed her phone screen to Draco along with Hermione, who peered over his shoulder.

'Aww…' Hermione's bottom lip wobbled. It was a perfect photo. When the little girl kissed his cheek, Draco's smile broadened into a candid laugh. They looked like a beautiful mini family: a doting father with his adorable little daughter.

She looked around for a convenient but preferably private spot to take Draco so he could get her pregnant. They had ten minutes before the ceremony started. Plenty of time.

No! She shook her curls and took control of her hormones. 'That's a lovely photo,' she said to Mummy. Would you mind if you sent it to us?'

Mummy looked at Hermione with surprise. 'Who are you?'

'Um. Troy's… publicist.'

Mummy smiled widely. 'Of course! What's your Instagram address?' Then she frowned. 'You won't use it for publicity purposes, will you? I don't want dear little Matilda to end up somewhere unscrupulous on the internet.'

'Of course not!' Hermione assured her. 'This is just for Dra- uh, Troy's personal album.' Meanwhile, Hermione's internal voice moaned 'Omigod her name's Matilda that's so cute I'm going to DIE…'

Yummy Mummy smiled again, and entered Hermione's address into her phone.

Mummy, Matilda and a completely oblivious Timothy went back to their viewing spot, and Draco turned to Hermione. 'I'd forgotten all about Troy,' he said in a low voice. 'Do you think I'm going to get hassled all day – hey! What's wrong? Are you okay?'

Hermione turned her flushed face with a wobbly lower lip to Draco. 'Yes!' she said brightly. Then two tears trailed down her cheeks, and the wobbly lower lip picked up in wobbles.

Thoroughly alarmed, and mindful of surrounding busybodies looking on, Draco gathered her into her arms and hugged her tight. 'What's the matter, love?' he whispered. 'Take a deep breath and tell me how I can help you.'

Her body trembled in his arms. 'Don't make me say it!' she moaned.

He was completely at a loss. 'Don't make you say what?'

She stilled. Then she moaned and blurted: 'I want to have a baby!'

Draco's eyes widened. 'Really?'

'Yes! No! Hormones!'

Draco understood two of the three words, but once again he was washed out to the Sea of Total Fucking Confusion. But the one thing he did get was that the woman he loved was upset. And he hated to see her upset.

To be fair, Draco had spent all of his sexually active years avoiding getting anyone pregnant, but if Hermione wanted it, well… maybe he should put some thought into it, at least. He owed it to his lineage to populate Malfoy Manor with at least one sprog. His mother would kill him, otherwise.

And he couldn't see him having a child with anyone other than the young woman in his arms.

He articulated his response with caution. 'If you're sure you want to, then' –

Hermione snuffled into his chest and looked up. Her cheeks were still flushed, but the tears had dried up. 'It's okay,' she smiled. 'I saw Matilda and I got completely carried away. It's much too soon for us to even think about having children, let alone talk about having children. Not to mention actually having children.'

Okay. All right. Draco nodded. 'Sounds wise to me, beautiful.'

So why did he feel like a little part of his heart stopped beating?

Suddenly, Draco's ears were assaulted by a noise that he could only describe as a couple of dozen cats having their innards squeezed out by a troll.

Hermione turned in his arms. 'Oh, look! The Changing of the Guard's starting!'

* * *

Draco's ears were still ringing when Hermione led them to their next destination, just a hop and a skip over Westminster Bridge - across a stretch of water known as the Thames.

He'd also narrowly avoided going cross-eyed trying to figure out if the men in scarlet coats and enormous black fuzzy hats (Merlin knows what _those_ could be compensating for) wielding monstrous drums or shiny screeching musical instruments were marching anywhere in particular. It seemed to him that all they were doing was going around, making sure that all the bystanders personally received their maximum daily allowance of Bloody Loud Noise.

Still, it was a well-co-ordinated spectacle. No-one dropped their instruments, skidded on a pile of steaming horse droppings or took a wrong turn and ended up in the Queen's bedroom by mistake.

He quite liked the horses at the front and rear of the procession, but Hermione said they weren't part of the Guard. They were Police horses. The Police are the Muggle alternative to Aurors, she explained. So, Draco presumed the horses were the Muggle alternative to brooms.

He smiled smugly. He was quite getting the hang of this Muggle business – oh, hang on.

'Mr Fendalton!'

Three Japanese tourists stood in front of Draco, sporting beaming grins and fearsome-looking cameras.

'Mr Fendalton!' saluted the middle one, a gent of about forty years old, wearing brand-new Levi 501s ('jeans,' to Draco) and a t-shirt that said 'I'm in London, Bitch!' He and his two companions, both young women, bowed.

Draco looked out of the corner of his eye to Hermione. She shrugged, but bowed back, so Draco copied her. Including the shrug.

'Mr Fendalton! Yes!' The young lady on the left beamed, and bowed again. She wore ridiculously short cut-off denims and a pink singlet with the Union Jack that said 'If I Lived in London, I'd be Home by Now.'

'I'm not Mr Fendalton,' Draco replied.

The young lady on the right said 'Mr Fendalton, yes!' and also beamed and bowed again. She wore identical cut-off denims, and her singlet said 'I Hate London if it's Not Raining.'

'I'm not Mr Fendalton!'

The trio looked at each other, then the man said 'Troy Fendalton, yes!' All three beamed and bowed.

Draco sighed. 'All right, yes, get on with it.'

Draco posed with the group while:

1\. the man took a photo with Draco and the two girls

2\. the girl on the left took a photo with Draco, the man and the girl on the right

3\. the girl on the right took a photo with Draco, the man and the girl on the left

4\. Hermione took photos, using each of their cameras, of the complete group.

You never saw three happier Japanese tourists in London in your life.

With many bows, thank-yous and bye-byes, the trio sailed off, cameras flashing like strobe lights.

Draco realised how much golden butt cheek each girl displayed beneath their shorts as they walked away, and his eyebrows shot to the heavens in shock.

And stayed up in appreciation.

'Ahem.'

Draco turned around and saw Hermione glaring at him.

'You'd look gorgeous in those shorts, love,' he said hastily.

She rolled her eyes.

* * *

'Well! Here we are,' Hermione said breezily. 'The London Eye.'

Draco looked up.

Slytherin's tits, that's a big wheel.

Hermione explained that there were thirty-two passenger capsules attached to the wheel, which passengers go in. It took about thirty minutes for the wheel to complete a rotation and you got jolly good views of London while you did so.

Draco's interest picked up. It had been months since he was on a broom for any reason other than flying morosely around Malfoy Manor, so he was certainly interested in what looked like would be a very slow ride above the London landscape. 'Sounds good!' he said.

'Great!' Hermione replied. 'Well, the ticket line is just over there. I'll see you later.'

She got one step away before Draco clamped a hand on her arm. 'Hang on a minute,' he drawled. 'And where are those ridiculously-coloured shoes taking you?'

'Nowhere!' she stammered. 'I was just going to sit on a park bench and read my phone until you got back.'

Draco crossed his arms. 'You're still scared of heights.'

Hermione and her hair bristled. 'I am not. It's just that – well, you know' –

Draco put a gentle finger to her lips. 'Do you know how this wheel thing was built?'

She brightened. 'Oh, yes! You see, it's a cantilevered observation wheel mounted on an A-frame' –

Draco's finger returned to her lips. 'You see, you probably know more about the construction of this wheel than anyone lining up to buy tickets. I have no sodding idea how it was built, but I'm prepared to trust the good people who designed and built this thing to get me safely around. As are all these other people.' He waved a hand at the orderly queue of tourists. 'Don't you think this is an ideal time for you to put your logic to good use? Nothing will happen.'

Hermione sulked. 'How do you know?'

He drew her in and kissed her gently. 'I won't let anything happen to you. That's how I know.'

Her heartbeat raced, and a smile spread over her face. This was one of many reasons why she loved him.

'All right, then.'

'Marvellous!'

They linked hands, and joined the ticket line.

* * *

Unfortunately, Hermione's new-found resolve deserted her when, locked inside the passenger capsule, the wheel started its gentle motion.

'I changed my mind. I want to get off.' Hermione lurched to the door, but Draco grabbed her hand and used her momentum to twirl her around.

'Come on, Granger,' he whispered. 'Don't want to let the team down in front of all these strangers, do we?'

Hermione looked cautiously around at the other passengers, most of whom had plastered their faces up to the capsule glass, ooh-ing and aah-ing at the mucky Thames water beneath. Only one kid, a boy of about ten with short black dreadlocks, looked their way curiously.

She clutched Draco's hand with a death grip. 'Don't let go,' she pleaded.

'I won't let go, love.' Draco didn't think he could, even if he wanted to.

* * *

They got to fifteen minutes in when Hermione started shaking. They were at the top of the wheel, so Draco presumed that all the blue sky and fluffy clouds was getting to her.

Draco pulled her into his arms and held her tight. 'You're doing really well, love.'

Inarticulate snuffling noises rose from where her head met his chest.

He stroked her back. If only he had some Calming Draught. He was surprised it wasn't in Hermione's bottomless backpack.

'She feeling poorly, then?' A grandmotherly-type with short hair tinted pink peered over at Hermione's trembling curls.

'She's not very good with heights,' Draco said apologetically. And I'm the one who made her get on this thing. _And_ she didn't say anything about me hating the Underground. Merlin's minge, I'm a bad boyfriend.

'Chin up, luv!' the grandmother shouted. Godric knew why. 'Yer on the 'ome run now!'

Hermione peeked over Draco's arm and smiled a wobbly smile at the old lady. She beamed toothlessly back.

'I'm really sorry,' Draco said in a low voice. 'I shouldn't have goaded you.'

She shook her head. 'I know that what I'm feeling is illogical. And this experience hasn't been completely and utterly terrifying so far.' This time, her smile was a little stronger.

'Are you enjoying the view?' she asked.

'Sure am. Everything I've seen is beautiful,' he said, looking only at her.

She blushed, and Draco leaned down to kiss her, very gently, on the lips.

'Aww, ain't tha' luvverly?' cooed the grandmother, and all the other passengers turned around.

Draco joined Hermione in the blushing.

'Excuse me?'

Draco was starting to hate that phrase.

This time, the questioner was the boy with the mop-top of short dreadlocks. 'Yes?'

The dreadlocked boy peered at Draco suspiciously. 'Yer not Troy Fendalton, are yer?'

Draco was extremely happy to hear that. 'No, mate, I'm not.'

Dreadlocked boy nodded slowly, thinking. 'Didn't fink so. That's not Troy's girlfriend yer holding, at any rate.'

Draco braced for the comparisons between Hermione and what's-her-name's tits, but they never came. Still, you never knew. Ten-year-olds are very knowledgeable these days. Draco himself was rather taken with the female form back then.

'Can I get a photo of you anyway, then?' the boy asked.

He shrugged. 'Sure, I guess.' However, when he let go of Hermione, she shrieked and leapt onto him, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, setting the grandmother off into hoots of laughter. Her denim skirt rode up indecently, giving the dreadlocked boy something to raise his eyebrows about.

'Uh, how about when we get outside?' Draco suggested, trying to pull Hermione's hem down with one hand.

Dumbstruck, the boy nodded and backed away. Draco didn't want to think about what the kid saw to make his eyes bug out like that.

He spent the last five minutes of the ride convincing Hermione that his body was not a jungle gym and that she really should get down now.

* * *

After that adventure, the couple decided it was time for elevenses. They bought takeaway coffees, strolled to St. James's Park and sat on a park bench. Draco cautiously eyed the absolutely huge resident pelicans who were nodding off in the sun while Hermione flicked through a newspaper that had been left behind by a previous bench occupant.

'Where did these pelican-things come from?' Draco asked. 'Do they normally live in London?'

Hermione looked up briefly from the paper. 'They're from North America usually,' she said. 'But some were given to King Charles II from the Russian Ambassador in 1664, and they've lived here ever since.'

Funny how he used to find Hermione's encyclopaedic knowledge really irritating at school. But now he thought it was awesome. All the answers at his fingertips, wrapped up in a rather tasty package, to boot.

'I think the joke was on the King,' Draco observed.

Silence.

'I said' –

'Uh-oh,' muttered Hermione. She picked up the newspaper and set it down between them.

A headline at the top of the page read: 'Ratbag Troy Cheats on Sage with Mystery Woman!'

And just below that was a photo of Draco and Hermione at the train station. Kissing.

* * *

 **A/N: very sorry for the cliff-hanger, and the lack of sexy times. Sexy times will be fulfilled in the next chapter. Or maybe the one after that. There will be considerable sexy times for Big Drake the One-Eyed Snake! Promise!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I'm so sorry, readers, I have failed you! *sobs* I couldn't work any Dramione sexy times into this chapter! But I promise, absolutely promise, that sexy times will feature in chapter six. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this feeble effort below...**

* * *

Draco bought a hat.

This was after he and Hermione had a heated discussion about transfiguring the colour and cut of his hair and adding something that sounded like a goat to his chin. But when faced between a rock and a hard place, he decided that keeping his sexy blonde 'do was more important to him than hat hair. So Hermione would just have to deal with it.

He flatly refused to buy a garish baseball or trucker's cap with logos such as 'YOLO', 'Yuck Fou' or 'Vodka Made Me do It', although he lingered slightly over 'I'm the Boss.' Hermione, who had hoped to nip into a nearby convenience store and quickly buy the first thing she got her hands on, sighed and took him to a more reputable establishment that sold actual, proper hats.

As luck would have it, a reputable establishment was but a short distance away. 'Messrs Pierce & Farraday – Hatters to Gentlemen of Discerning Tastes since 1802' had a discreet emporium in one of the posher parts of the City of London. Its shiny black door stood next to a window display. The minimalist display consisted of a thin, three-twigged branch, upon which were perched a top hat, a bowler and a fascinator made from wild goose feathers that, ironically, looked like a bird's nest.

Hermione had a quick look at the miniscule price tag attached to the fascinator. It cost £1,450.00. She snorted. Draco should be right at home here.

When Draco strode confidently into the tiny shop, he was almost immediately fawned upon by a dapper little chap in a three-piece suit, scarlet bow tie and shoes so shiny that had he been wearing a skirt, one could have seen what colour underwear he was wearing. Or, indeed, if he was wearing any at all.

'Good morning, sir, madam, and welcome to our humble establishment!' he gushed, and blow Hermione down if he didn't bow to them. 'My name is Jameson. If you require any assistance whatsoever, I shall be pleased to offer my services.'

'Uh, I'm not Troy Fendalton,' Draco said cautiously.

Jameson looked alarmed. 'Indeed not, sir,' he said. 'Pardon me for asking, sir, but should I know this Mr Fendalton chap?'

Draco smiled in relief. 'Absolutely not,' he said. 'I'm looking for a hat. My girlfriend and I' – he pulled Hermione gently in to his side, and Jameson beamed at her – 'will take a look around ourselves to start with and call upon you later.'

'Yes, of course, sir! Men's hats are just this way, if you'll follow me.'

They followed Jameson through a maze of shelves all heaving with hats, boxes and hatboxes until they reached their destination.

And Then There Were Hats!

They scrutinised tweed hats, top hats, bowler hats, trilbies, panamas and straw hats, flat caps, fur hats, fedoras and homburgs, pork pies, beanies, engineer caps and cotton hats. Draco ignored the baseball caps.

'Hermione? How about this one?'

She turned around from examining a cute little Sherlock Holmes deerstalker and rolled her eyes. 'Be serious, Draco.'

'What? It matches my shirt.'

Hermione took the grey rabbit-felt Ascot top hat off his head and put it back. 'You need something more casual. Let's take a look at the fedoras. They're quite stylish.'

Draco thoughtfully perused the selection and tried on a black Regent fedora. It had a reasonable brim that partly obscured his face, especially if he pulled it over one eye. This, of course, made him look so sexy that Hermione practically felt her knickers melting off.

'Oh, if I may say so, sir, that hat looks _divine_ on you,' gushed Jameson, popping out from behind an umbrella display. Obviously the fedora was doing things to his knickers, too.

'We'll put this in the 'maybe' pile,' said Draco. Jameson rushed up on his shiny shoes and carried the fedora off like it was the Crown Jewels.

Next, Draco stopped at an interesting choice: something that looked like a very expensive cowboy hat except it had a wide flat downturned brim, instead of a brim that curled up on the sides. Draco picked it up and looked underneath. 'Akubra,' he read out. 'What's that?'

Hermione had no idea, so she was happy when Jameson popped up from behind the umbrella display again and said 'It's the traditional Australian outback hat, sir. Very rugged. It's made from stiff felt, and has a thin kangaroo-leather belt. And if you take a wee look on the side, sir, you'll see that the belt is augmented by a genuine Australian opal.'

Unmoved by the opal and unsure what an outback was, Draco nevertheless tried the hat on.

'Oh, yes,' he said, looking at his reflection.

'Oh, _yes_!' trilled Jameson.

'Oh, yes,' smiled Hermione. The hat's brim was large and cast a shadow on Draco's face. This lent an air of mystery to him that increased his sexiness by a thousand percent.

'Excellent,' said Draco. To Jameson: 'I'll take this Australian thingy.'

'Wonderful choice, sir,' beamed Jameson, and the two ambled off to the cash register.

Hermione followed, but something was niggling at her. Unable to put her finger on it exactly, she went with her instinct and took out her phone, brought up Instagram and started scrolling through pictures posted by Troy Fendalton.

It didn't take long before she found the source of her niggle: in at least a third of Troy's photos, he was wearing an Akruba hat, a.k.a. an Australian thingy.

'Draco!' she called out. 'WAIT!'

* * *

Back to the drawing board, Hermione and Draco took a short stroll through the boaters and panamas. Draco tried on a Classic panama hat in cream with a black leather headband. The brim was wide, and could be turned either up or down, or up in the back and down in the front. And vice versa, of course.

'Handwoven in Ecuador, sir, using centuries-old hatmaking techniques,' assured Jameson.

Hermione scrutinised Draco. Its light colour made it an ideal summer hat. It was versatile, and had the all-important wide brim. On Draco, it made him look like a model.

'Sold,' she said.

The cost of the hat (£265.00) was a pittance compared to what it cost Draco's pride, but needs must when the Devil drives, as Hermione reminded him.

* * *

Outside, Hermione couldn't help but notice that while the hat may have made Draco less conspicuous to Troy Fendalton fans, he was certainly attracting more than his fair share of admiring glances from women. She supposed she should be grateful that they didn't demand selfies with him or slip their phone numbers into his pockets. She sighed. Honestly. Letting Draco Malfoy loose in Muggle London was starting to become a major pain in the arse.

At least Draco was happy. Far from bemoaning the state his hair was going to be in at the end of the day, he was preening like one of those ridiculous white peacocks that strutted around Malfoy Manor like they owned the bloody place.

'What would you like to do now?' asked Hermione. No point trying to resurrect her tour schedule; it was fucked.

He grinned. 'Let's buy a SmartFone.'

* * *

Finding a shop that sold mobile phones was easy; just throw a stone down a street and you'd hit one. Hermione steered Draco in to one of the larger premises that sold phones, phones and only phones. Everything was white and bright, and the atmosphere was pulsing with loud electronic music that drilled a hole right into your head. Hermione could feel her pulse synchronising with the music's bass. She wondered what would happen to her if there was a power outage and the music stopped.

Soon, Draco was thoughtfully perusing a long line of display phones tethered to a backlit bench. He picked one up at random, and saw that it was attached to the table by a cable.

'What's the point of tying the phone to the desk?'

'So it doesn't get stolen. It's an anti-theft device.'

Privately, Draco thought magic was the winner here. If you had something you didn't want nicked, you could imbue it with all sorts of charms or curses, ranging from mildly ticklish to limb-amputating.

He poked some of the buttons. Nothing worked.

'Nothing works!' he complained.

'These are just display phones, Draco. They're here to help you decide what model you want. The important stuff is what's inside the phone.'

'Okay.' He tried to prise the one he held apart. 'It won't let me.'

Hermione prayed for strength. See the writing on the display table? That describes what's inside each phone. We compare the information next to each model of phone to work out what you want.'

'Oh,' said Draco.'

'So,' Hermione said,' what do you want?'

'A phone.'

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. 'What do you want to do with your phone?'

Draco thought back to his conversation with Daisy. 'So it can play the games that Daisy showed me.'

Hermione perused the phone specifications and pointed Draco to a phone. 'This one should be appropriate.'

Draco squinted at the specs. 'What does '4G mean?'

'Um… it basically means that the phone uses the latest wireless technology, which for you, means games can be installed and played faster on the phone.'

'That's good, right?'

She smiled. It must be like being in a foreign country for him, sometimes. 'That's good.'

'And 'Main Camera: 20MP + 12MP dual main camera with second generation Leica lens?''

'It means you can take photos with the phone.'

'Uh-huh. And CPU?'

'I'm going to find a sales assistant.'

* * *

The best Hermione could unearth was an attitudinal punk of indeterminate gender with a tall, rainbow-coloured Mohawk and bits of metal piercing his or her eyebrows, nose, mouth and ears. Additionally, his or her earlobes were stretched by a large pair of stainless steel flesh tunnels. His or her name tag said 'Vic.'

Draco blinked.

Vic sniffed and wiped the back of his or her hand across his or her nose. 'This bird says yer want 'elp, yeah?' he or she mumbled.

Draco stared at his or her ears. 'Do those hurt?' he asked.

'Draco!' hissed Hermione.

'Um, can you explain what these phone terms mean?' he asked instead.

Vic sneered. 'Aint'cha ever 'ad a phone before?'

'No.'

Vic's mouth fell open. He or she had a pierced tongue, too. Hermione wondered, with a shudder, what else Vic had pierced. And whether they were turning septic.

'All righ' then, whaddya wanna know?'

Draco looked at the specs again. 'What does 'AMOLED display' mean?

Vic sighed. 'Well, yer see, AMOLED means 'active-matrix organic ligh'-emittin' diode'. It adds a layer of semiconducting film behin' the organic ligh'-emittin' diode panel which allows it to more quickly activate each pixel, yeah? The increased speed makes it ideal fer larger, 'igher definition displays wiv a lot of pixels. It's as much as a fousand times faster than a liquid crystal display, or LCD.'

Draco stared at Vic, aghast.

Hermione stepped in. 'Just give him the most expensive phone you've got,' she said. 'Along with every possible accessory.'

Draco nodded, satisfied.

Vic grunted and shuffled off to the storeroom.

* * *

Draco was now the happy owner of a top-of-the-range mobile phone, complete with leather case, car holder kit and charger (despite his obvious lack of a car), Bluetooth headset, headphones, speakers and a stylus pen. Hermione estimated that the entire kit and boodle cost him about the same amount of money it would take feed to feed a starving Third World village for a year. But he didn't blink an eye, simply handed over his royal purple Coutts World Card to Vic, whose eyebrow piercings shot up when he or she took it.

Hermione boggled. Draco had a credit card so exclusive that the Queen was one of the bank's clients. Cards were handed by invitation only.

Draco saw her staring. 'It's a Malfoy Enterprises expenses card. Mother and I each have one.'

Blimey, thought Hermione faintly.

Draco returned to his phone. 'I've got your number programmed,' he said. 'Can you give me Daisy's number?'

'What do you want her number for?' Hermione asked, surprised.

Draco grinned. 'So I can call her and tell her I got a phone!'

Hermione laughed. 'Oh, right.' She found it and texted Daisy's number to him.

'How are you going to charge the phone in the Wizarding world?' she asked.

Draco waved a hand airly. 'Don't bother me with trifles.'

* * *

'So! Where to next, angel?' Draco asked, draping an arm around Hermione.

She consulted her phone. 'Well,' she said doubtfully, 'I had thought about taking you to a film studio, which is about twenty minutes away by train. They have a tour where you can see how a popular film was made.'

Draco was keen. After discovering the TeeVee at Chateau Granger, he'd become fascinated by the programmes it broadcasted. He peppered Hermione with so many questions that even she grew tired of having to explain everything, and stomped off somewhere to read a book in peace and quiet. Luckily, Andrew was happy to take over as Chief TeeVee Educator. Films, he understood, were bigger forms of TeeVee programmes.

'Great!' he said. 'Where's the train station?'

'There's just one problem.'

'Oh, Granger, you've got to start looking on the bright side of things,' Draco admonished. 'Problems are just obstacles that haven't been overcome yet.'

'Really,' Hermione said sarcastically. 'Well, the _obstacle_ with the film tour is that the film is The Soldier Prince. It's a fantasy movie about a Prince whose country is at war with another, and he fights incognito as an ordinary foot soldier. Lots of trolls, dragons, goblins, augmented elephants - you name it.'

'Sounds even better!'

'I'm not finished,' Hermione said darkly. 'Troy Fendalton had the lead role. It made him famous overnight.'

'So, what you're saying is…'

'If we go on the film studio tour, the chances of you being recognised, even with your hat, are practically guaranteed. If there are any hard-core fans in the tour group, I doubt you'll leave the studio unmolested.'

But on seeing Draco's despondent face, she put a comforting hand on his arm. 'If you really want to go, we could chance it… but you'd have to transfigure yourself.'

Draco sighed. Like every Hogwarts student, he'd practised his transfiguration skills on himself, so he knew what he looked like with different hairstyles and hair colours. In short, he looked nothing short of ridiculous, and his ego was far too fragile for him to look ridiculous, even in front of complete strangers in Muggle London.

But fret not – Draco had hatched a cunning plan.

'All right, love,' he pretend-sighed, and they looked for a public convenience where he could transfigure himself.

* * *

Draco fidgeted for the length of the entire train journey.

Hermione put down her phone, exasperated. 'What on earth is the matter with you?'

He glared at her. 'That public _convenience_ ,' he spat, 'was the filthiest, most revolting cesspit I have ever had the misfortune to set foot in. The smell alone nearly knocked me out! I can feel it seeping into my clothes. My skin!'

Hermione allowed herself a quick eye-roll for Draco's upper-class sensitivities. 'You're imagining it,' she assured him.

She took another look at his head and face. His hair was black and he jammed his panama on to try and hide as much of it as possible. After she explained clearly to him (and showed him photos on her phone) what a goatee, not a goat, was, he added this extra layer of disguise. Draco's transfigured appearance also transfigured his temper, and Hermione had the distinct impression that she was sitting next to a troll with toothache who had just stubbed his toe.

Thankfully, the stop for the film studio appeared.

* * *

A hub of people were waiting at the studio's main entrance for a guide to escort them along the tour. Hermione and Draco joined them. So far, so good, thought Hermione with relief. No-one gave Draco a second glance on the train, and neither did the people waiting for the tour (some of them hard-core, judging by their cosplay attire).

Soon, a handsome, hyperactive young man bounded up, wearing jeans and a t-shirt with the film studio's logo. 'Hello, everyone!' he called out. 'Welcome to Ten Oaks Film Studios! My name is Aiden, and I'll be your guide for the afternoon.' He winked at Hermione. She blushed. Draco seethed.

Aiden spent a few minutes giving respect to the cossie'd-up hard-core fans, launching into lingo that Hermione and most of the rest of the tour had no clues about. While waiting for Aiden for finish gushing, she looked around.

Hang on. Something's missing.

One wizard.

Aiden noticed Hermione looking around in confusion with her neck craned out. 'Is something wrong, Miss?' he asked worriedly. 'Have you lost something?'

'Yes! My boyfriend! He was here just a second ago!'

'Oh! Uh… is that him coming around the side of the entrance building?'

Hermione's mouth fell open. Draco ambled leisurely back to the group, looking much happier. The reason for this was because he'd bloody gone and transfigured himself back to his normal, gorgeous self. He kept the goatee, in case someone was actually paying attention to what he looked like before he did a bunk behind the building, but he lightened it to match his hair.

Hermione mentally catalogued the contents of her backpack. No sharp instruments were contained therein, worse luck. She'll just have to kill him with her bare hands instead.

'Are you all right, sir?' Aiden asked. 'Do you need the loo?'

The cosplayers snickered.

'Maybe later,' Draco said politely.

'Well then!' cheered Aiden. 'Let's begin! Follow me!'

The line of visitors trailed out behind their fearless leader, who escorted them into the bowels of the studio.

Hermione clasped Draco's hand and gouged her fingernails into his flesh. To his credit, he only whimpered a little.

'Why?' she spat.

'Love, you knew I was a shallow, pretentious prick. Are you really surprised?'

No, of course not. She glared at him all the same. 'Here's a Muggle saying: Pride goes before a fall. You'd do well to remember that.'

'Stop worrying,' he said indulgently. 'What's the worst that could happen?'

* * *

First stop was a gigantic room set out into large rectangles. Interior sets of the movies were set up in each one. 'Look Draco!' said Hermione, entranced. 'Here's the set of the King's throne room!'

It was large enough to stand over one hundred people comfortably. Airy and light, it had a intricately-patterned flagstone floor, massive sconces where fires burned brightly, and at the end, a large and luscious crystal throne sat on a set of red-carpeted steps.

Aiden bounded up the steps and stood next to the throne. 'Here is the throne of King Iolrath of The Azurelands, whose son Prince Gabriel went to fight the evil warlords of Aheocyre. As you may remember, the King sickened with fear and worry for his missing son, and eventually faded away, leaving the kingdom leaderless. The brave tracker Ailas was despatched to find him, at no matter the cost.'

The cosplayers nodded amongst themselves, and others got their phones and cameras out.

One of the cosplayers, a young woman wearing Ailas's costume of ripped leather leggings, boots, skin-tight bandage shirt and a dark cloak, asked 'Can we sit on the throne?'

Aiden laughed merrily. 'Of course you can! Go right ahead.'

The cosplayers dashed to the throne and took photos of each other sitting on it, pulling fearsome expressions. Ailas's pose looked like she was humping it.

'Anyone else?' asked Aiden.

Hermione nudged Draco. 'Want to have a go? I'll take a photo of you.'

He shrugged agreeably, and strolled up the steps. He sprawled elegantly on the large throne, resting one hand on a crystal armrest and propping up his elbow on the other. He used this hand to rest his chin, and smiled his panty-dropping smile beneath the Panama. He looked like he was born to sit on that throne. Smiling and shaking her head, Hermione took some photos.

Aiden was impressed. 'Wow,' he said with awe. 'Looks like you belong there.'

Ailas agreed. 'Yum,' she said to another female cosplayer, before catching Hermione's raised eyebrow. Instead of blushing, she smirked boldly back.

Whatever, Hermione thought. Draco can deal with her.

* * *

Next was the Costume Department. They toured another gigantic room, lined with rows upon rows of costumes, sorted and cross-referenced by creature type, roles, level of wear and tear, etc. Mannequins were placed in groups around the room, wearing a selection of the film's more recognisable costumes. Draco paused before an elaborate court gown that Ailas wore at the end of the movie when she and Gabriel returned victorious to the castle and he asked her to be his wife. He gently took down the crystal tiara from the mannequin's head and placed it on Hermione's curls.

'Hey, don't' –

Draco quietened her by placing a finger on her lips. Then he got out his phone, found the camera function, and carefully took a photo.

He showed her the image. He'd taken it in black-and-white; by purpose of design, she didn't know. She looked lovely in it.

Draco gently kissed her, and removed the tiara.

''Ere, can I have a photo in that?' asked Ailas the cosplayer, leering suggestively at him.

'Sure.' Draco casually tossed the tiara to her and wandered off. Ailas shrieked and scrambled to catch it, receiving a telling-off from Aiden, who didn't see Draco throw it.

Hermione smirked and took her boyfriend's hand as they went to inspect another group of mannequins.

* * *

The Armoury. All the male cosplayers perked up and puffed out when they saw the rows and rows and rows of fearsome-looking weapons. Aiden proudly showed them a window into the studio's real-life armoury, where a bloke in a film studio t-shirt, safety glasses and earplugs was sharpening a massive sword blade on a grinder.

Next, Aiden took them to a corner where dozens of intricately-designed types of chain mail were hanging. 'The studio prided itself on using props and costumes that were as authentic as possible. They didn't want to use fake rubbish that a five-year-old kid could recognise. This metal chain mail' – he took one down from the display wall – is one of our lighter ones, weighing in at around 10 kilograms. On top of the rest of the costume the battlers had to wear, along with special effects makeup and with weapons to carry and wield, only very strong and fit extras could cope with the demands of shooting the battle scenes.'

Aiden winked at Hermione. 'Would you like to hold it?'

Blushing, Hermione accepted the linked metal, and almost dropped it. Blimey, it was heavy!

Ailas scowled. 'Fer God's sake, it's easy ter see you wouldn't last five minutes on a battlefield. Give it 'ere.' She snatched the chain mail out of Hermione's hands and made a show of juggling it between hers. 'Easy,' she boasted.

'You think so?' asked Aiden. 'Wearing that chain mail plus your costume for up ten hours a day in the blazing sun, when you're not allowed to take the costume or make-up off because it took three hours to get you in to it? Rather you than me, love, is all I can say.'

Ailas looked put out. Hermione wondered if the girl underneath the costume realised that Ailas was a fictional character.

* * *

They moved over to the weapons racks. Aiden drew out two long swords with intricate hilts. 'As you can see, every sword was crafted from metal. Depending on their size, they could weigh between two to three kilograms each. Every one was made at our Armoury,' he said proudly.

'They're blunt along the edge and tip, and every actor that was required to wield a sword in the film was given extensive lessons and time to rehearse the fight scenes. Safety first!'

Aiden then looked at the cosplayers. 'Who wants to try them on for size? No epic battles, mind you. Just for posing for photos.'

The cosplayers scrambled over each other to get to them.

The group watched the cosplayers pose with the swords, Ailas testing Aiden's patience by swinging her sword a little more energetically than studio policy decreed. Eventually, Aiden wrestled the sword off her, and she bounced excitedly back to her female friend, who was standing next to Draco.

'Gawd, Saffron, that was – oops!'

And poor, apparently uncoordinated Ailas tripped over her boots and tumbled into Draco, sending them to the ground – knocking his Panama off.

Lying practically on his chest, Ailas looked sultrily at Draco's face – and her mouth fell open in shock. 'Oh, my Gawd,' she whispered.

'I'm not Troy Fendalton!' Draco said hastily.

Saffron peered at him. 'Oh, my Gawd!' she shrieked.

'Oh dear, is everyone all right?' fretted Aiden, coming to lend a hand to lever Ailas off Draco's person. 'Here's your hat, sir – oh, my God!'

Oh, my God indeed, thought Hermione grimly. 'He's not Troy Fendalton,' she insisted. 'He just looks like him.'

Her words sailed over the heads of the assembled.

'Oh, my Gawd! I just fell on top of Troy Fendalton!' Ailas screamed.

Draco and Hermione joined hands and backed slowly away. 'Uh, we have to go now,' said Hermione.

'No! You can't leave yet! This is a one-of-a-kind opportunity!' Aiden gushed, tears practically forming in his eyes. 'To think, I had the great Troy Fendalton on my tour – my boyfriend won't believe it when I tell him!'

Meanwhile, cameras and phones were flashing like crazy, and Ailas was slowly advancing on Draco, almost drooling.

'Thanks for everything! Bye!' Spinning around, Hermione dashed out of the armoury, dragging an unprepared Draco behind her.

They sprinted for the studio entrance, Hermione frantically trying to remember the path they took in reverse.

'They're gaining,' said Draco, looking behind him.

Shit. 'Can you reach your wand?' asked Hermione frantically.

'Yeah, I have it.'

'We'll have to apparate. Find a place where we can hide.'

Being a security-conscious film studio, every closed door they passed could only be accessed by a key card. Finally, they ran into the Costume Department and dived inbetween two rows of what looked like archery costumes. Draco unshrunk his wand with a wordless spell, yanked Hermione in to his side, and with a last look over his shoulder to make sure no Muggles were in sight, disapparated them.

* * *

They landed, out of breath, in the Granger's back yard.

Jean was in the kitchen, preparing dinner. 'Hello, you two!' she called out as Draco and Hermione trudged inside. 'How was your day?'

'Exhausting,' they mumbled together.

Draco looked at Hermione, feeling wretched. 'Love, I'm really sorry' –

'It's okay,' Hermione replied tiredly. 'Just, next time, please listen to me, okay?'

'Absolutely,' said Draco sincerely.

Jean looked up from chopping onions. 'Did you have some trouble?'

Hermione dragged herself across the kitchen to enter the living room. 'I need to use the Floo to explain to the Ministry of Magic why a bunch of Muggles on a film studio tour need to have their memories modified so they can stop wondering how two people completely disappeared within the space of a few seconds.' She left the kitchen.

Draco looked guiltily at Jean.

'Draco?' called Hermione from the living room. 'You can decide what we're going to do tomorrow!'

'Better make it good,' Jean recommended.

* * *

Up in his bedroom, Draco lay on his bed and stared at the photo he took of Hermione.

His queen.

He'd better pull out all the stops for tomorrow. Let's see, he thought, it should be something where he's not going to get recognised, but if push came to shove, he'd transfigure himself again. And stay that way.

An idea began to form in his handsome head. But he needed help.

He brought up Daisy's number on his phone, and dialled it.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you enjoyed sight-seeing and shopping with Draco and Hermione! And thanks, once again, for the huge number of reviews, favourites and follows! I am humbled, absolutely humbled.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Welcome back, dear readers! Once again, please bear with me while I thank each and every one of you for giving my little story life by reading it and wanting to know what happens next. Anon reviewers: thank you so much for your feedback!**

 **I hope you enjoy my latest contribution.**

 **And... lemon alert, everybody! Finally!**

* * *

 **Morning**

Right.

Draco vowed to be on his best behaviour.

Before he appeared for breakfast, he altered his hair and eyebrows and magicked the matching goatee into existence. He picked up his hat and checked his phone to make sure all was well.

He had a text from Daisy.

 _Good luck today! I hope it goes well!_

 _D._

It was followed by a round, yellow smiley face with its fingers crossed, along with what looked to be a cat's face with hearts for eyes.

He smiled to himself. It _will_ go well. Most of the reason why it will go well is because Daisy remotely walked him through practically every step yesterday evening.

He pocketed the phone, prayed that Merlin would take pity on him for once, tripped over Croookshanks, who was camping outside his bedroom door, and headed downstairs.

* * *

'Oh!' Hermione looked up from her tea, surprised. 'You're in disguise.'

'That I am.' Draco headed around to her side of the kitchen table and kissed her cheek. He sat down, grabbed a piece of toast and started buttering it.

Jean wished Draco good morning, then returned to her herbal tea and the _Times_ crossword. The poor boy does _not_ suit dark hair.

'So, what are we doing today?' Hermione asked.

Draco winked and tapped his nose. 'It's a surprise, love.'

Hermione looked a little alarmed. It's not that she didn't hate surprises, exactly… it's just that she preferred to be prepared. And with Draco, anything could happen.

Draco saw her discomfort, and clasped her hand. 'Everything will go exactly as planned,' he promised. 'Ow!'

Hermione squinted at him. 'Ow?'

'That orange beast just clawed his way up my leg.' He dashed a tear from his watering eyes.

Hermione peered under the kitchen table. Crooks was purring, looking dopey and kneading Draco's lap, getting ready to settle down for an epic catnap. 'Good boy, Crooks,' she cooed.

Draco sighed. She was still a little bit annoyed with him, then.

* * *

Hermione's first surprise was that they caught a bus into the city. Using the bus timetable app on his phone, Draco selected a particular bus that left the bus stop at a particular time, and he made sure they arrived at said bus stop in time so as not to miss said bus.

So far, so…. miraculous, for a bloke who just yesterday pointed at an automated car park pay station and asked what it sold.

In the city, they hopped off the bus, and (using the GPS on his phone) Draco took them on a stroll in the summer sunshine down Royal Hospital Road and onto the leafy and very well-heeled Swan Walk. When they arrived a tall brick wall with greenery frothing over the top, Draco stopped, and held his hand out to Hermione.

Curiously wary, she put her hand in his.

'Hermione,' Draco said solemnly, 'I'm very sorry for yesterday's trouble, and I'm going to make it up to you. Yesterday, we did things that I was interested in. Today will be all about you.'

'Really?' she asked. 'But you're the tourist' –

He put a finger to her lips. 'Making you happy and no longer mad at me is all I'm interested in today.'

Now Hermione felt a bit bad. 'I'm not mad at you,' she assured him. 'Anymore.'

Draco took it on the chin. 'Can we kiss and make up, then?'

'What, on the street?'

'You're right. We can do it inside. We'll find somewhere nice.'

Hermione looked at the brick wall. 'Inside where?'

Draco stood to the side, and revealed a dedication plaque that had been conveniently hiding behind him.

She took a closer look. It read 'The Chelsea Physic Garden.'

Her hands flew to her mouth.

Oh, my God, she thought. He might be a vain, arrogant, stubborn, aggravating prat sometimes, but I can't get over how intimately he knows me, even though we've only been together a few short months.

The memory of the first time they made love surfaced in her mind. He knew her perfectly, even then. She missed his body so much it felt like a physical ache.

Draco cleared his throat, concerned about her silence. 'I thought you might be interested in Muggle natural medicines, what with your Healer studies – oof!'

Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. 'This is wonderful! I've been meaning to visit for years! Thank you.'

Thoroughly transformed, she took his hand, whirled around and proceeded at full steam into the property.

* * *

The Chelsea Physic Garden was a miraculous oasis in the middle of London. Bordering the Thames, the Garden was a three-quarter acre plot bursting to the gills with medicinal and exotic plants from all over the world. It was founded in 1673 in an effort to teach apprentice apothecaries how to avoid poisoning their patients.

It had an accidental impact on the world by housing seeds and seedlings that led to the start of the cotton industry in America, the rubber industry in Malaysia, and even the tea industry in India. Draco hid a snigger at the irony of growing tea in India from English plants, only to ship the tea back to England, where its inhabitants were famous for guzzling gallons of the stuff. Whichever Malfoy ancestor that was around at the time wouldn't have been impressed.

Hermione made a beeline for the Garden of Medicinal Plants. Among the ancient brick pathways and meticulously topiarised shrubs, they inspected many useful plants, some of which had been in use for hundreds and hundreds of years.

There were so many plants to ooh and aah and ogle at, at least from Hermione's perspective.

 _Atropa belladonna,_ or deadly nightshade for us non-Latin slackers, was a very useful plant, despite its rather pesky tendency to kill people who ate it. Hermione was amazed that drops prepared from the plant were used to dilate women's pupils, which was something that blokes apparently found attractive in the day.

'I could distil some of the plant into drops in Snape's potions room if you want to try it out,' Draco offered.

'That's so nice of you to offer,' Hermione smiled, 'but I'm afraid you'll just have to get used to my small, ugly pupils just as they are.'

He smirked and put his arms around her waist. 'That will involve plenty of up-close and personal inspection, you know.'

'Oh, of course.'

She thought it prudent not to mention that _belladonna_ could be used as a recreational drug that produced such vivid and horrible hallucinations that people frequently injured themselves while under the influence. Draco was the 'I'll try anything once' type of person.

He was amused to discover that the Narcissus species was used in psychiatric medicine. Ironically, the only member of his family needing treatment involving Narcissus plants was Lucius.

They took a turn about the Garden of World Medicine, where Hermione was entranced by the range of plants used by Australian Aborigines, New Zealand Maori, and North American Indians.

In the Chinese section, Hermione pointed out the _Panax ginseng_ plant to Draco with a smirk. 'You might find investigating this plant worthwhile.'

Smelling a rat, Draco read the accompanying sign.

 _'P. ginseng_ works as an antioxidant, releasing nitric oxide, which may help combat erectile dysfunction. One remedy is to use a cream infused with ginseng, which, when applied to the male member, may assist with premature ejaculation.'

'Hey!' He lunged for her.

Laughing, Hermione sped off down the path.

* * *

At lunchtime, Draco took Hermione to a restaurant which had an outside dining area overlooking the Thames and Severn Canal. Across the water, which had a rather dodgy-looking greeny-brown tinge to it, canal boats, painted every colour of the rainbow, nodded peacefully up and down on the water.

Hermione had French toast, served with plump blueberries and gleaming with maple syrup, while Draco polished off a 'lunch burger,' which consisted of everything you could possibly want in a Full English breakfast – jammed between a hamburger bun.

'You'd better not fall asleep this afternoon after that enormous meal,' Hermione joked.

Draco smiled his sinfully sexy smile. 'I'll work it off.'

Her panties became wet.

* * *

After lunch, they bussed back into the city, hopping off near Buckingham Palace. Draco got out his phone, squinted at the GPS, turned around a few times to get his bearings (much to the consternation of passers-by), and headed south down Buckingham Palace Road. Hermione followed, figuring it was safer to stay behind him, so if he decided to hare off down a dark alley or dash across the busy road, she could at least see where he went.

Unexpectedly, Draco came to a dead, and seemingly random, stop. Hermione banged into him, knocking off his Panama.

'Ow!' She rubbed her nose.

'Sorry, love.' He collected his hat and kissed her maltreated nose. 'We're here.'

Once again, Draco brought her to an address whose exterior gave no clues as to what was contained within. She saw two enormous glass-paned double doors in oak, accompanied on each side by potted topiary bushes, both of which were hair-styled, for some reason, into hollowed-out triangles. This time, there was no plaque or sign to identify itself.

'You sure you're in the right place?'

'Yep,' Draco said confidently. 'It's the right street, and the right number.'

She folded her arms. 'You're not going to tell me what it is, are you?'

In answer, he drew her into the building's archway, next to one of the triangles. 'I've had a wonderful time with you this holiday,' he said quietly. 'Even, Salazar help me, at home with Lucius. But the one thing I've missed is spending time, just with you. In bed.'

Hermione's cheeks bloomed as her core began to tingle. 'I know how you feel.'

He nodded, a tiny bit nervously. 'Since we can't be together at your house, unless we take lessons on sex from your Mum' –

She never realised until now how bloody _wrong_ that sounded.

-'so I thought if we had a place where we could be together in private' –

The penny dropped, and Hermione laughed delightedly. 'This is a hotel?'

Draco grinned. 'It's a hotel.'

She practically leapt into his arms. 'You are the most cunning, devious bastard I've ever met in my entire life!' She kissed him. 'And I couldn't love you even more if I tried.'

Draco laughed. 'Well then, Ms Granger! Shall we give the hotel staff and guests something to talk about?'

'We shall.' She put her hand on his arm, and accompanied him inside.

* * *

 **A short time later**

Hermione turned around in a circle, her mouth hanging open. She couldn't _believe_ the suite that Draco booked. It was split-level, with living and dining space downstairs, and the bedroom and bathroom on the mezzanine floor upstairs. The woodwork was dark polished oak, and while the carpet's small black-and-white check pattern made her hallucinate if she looked at it too long, it was soft and luxurious beneath her bare feet.

The living area had a corner fireplace (too small for the Floo network), an opulent desk, armchairs and a small dining table, upon which sat a bowl of fresh fruit and artisan chocolates. There was even a cupboard under the stairs, which, when Hermione took a nervous look inside, stored an ironing board, hooks for hanging coats and an extensive selection of sturdy-looking umbrellas.

Upstairs had to be seen to be believed. The bedroom was dominated by a vast, perfectly-made bed, bedside tables, another desk and a massive wall-mounted TV. She practically fainted at the size of the built-in wardrobe.

The bathroom was huge. Not content with just whacking in a toilet, sink and bath-cum-shower, the hotel had installed a toilet, bidet, a vanity with two basins, separate shower, a large corner whirlpool bath _and_ …. another bloody wall-mounted TV!

Hermione made a note to hide the remote controls to the TVs. Just in case Draco got distracted.

As she floated back down the stairs, she realised she was still holding her half-full flute of champagne. She thought back to when she and Draco entered the hotel's opulent lobby, and the friendly receptionist, a portly fellow called Tarquin, greeted them like they were old friends.

Tarquin's smile grew impossibly wider when Draco gave his surname. 'Ah, Mr Malfoy, of course! Welcome, sir, welcome.' He had that same glazed look in his eye that Hermione had when Draco pulled out his Coutt's card to pay for his phone. Naturally, Draco would have used it to book the room. If Tarquin was a tad surprised to see such a young gentleman clutching such an outrageously exclusive credit card, he didn't show it.

Next, Tarquin turned his full-wattage beam on Hermione. 'And you are, Mademoiselle…?' he asked shyly.

Hermione smiled. 'Miss Granger,' she said.

Draco put an arm around her waist and kissed her temple. 'My fiancée,' he clarified.

Just as Hermione was about to smack Draco on the back of the head and demand to know why he lied to poor Tarquin, she felt the tingle of magic on her left ring finger.

Oh no, he didn't.

She lifted her hand up.

Oh yes, he did.

Clinging to her finger for dear life was a white-gold filigree ring with a magnificent solitaire emerald that put the diamonds on either side of it to shame. From the Malfoy collection, if she recalled correctly.

Tarquin nearly passed out when he saw it.

'Oh, my dear sir, you should have said when you booked!' he wailed. 'We _love_ engagements and weddings. We have a magnificent offer for romantic couples that involves' –

'That's okay,' smiled Draco, wisely avoiding Hermione's eye. 'The two of us can generate enough romance between us.'

Tarquin turned beet red.

As Draco registered his details, with Tarquin fussing over him, Hermione heard a clinking, rumbling sound approach. Soon, a geriatric gentleman, practically hunched over double, was not so much wheeling a drinks tray over the chequered marbled floor as he was using it as a zimmer frame. Champagne bottles danced merrily on top of the trolley as the poor man tried to control its path.

Tarquin followed Hermione's gaze. 'Ah, that's Cyril,' he said fondly. 'We treat all our guests to complimentary champagne when they arrive. He's been with us since the war, you know.'

Which one? wondered Hermione. The Crimean?

'He's a little hard of hearing, so you'll need to speak up,' Tarquin advised. He demonstrated. 'Cyril!' he bellowed, giving Draco a hell of a fright.

Cyril looked up vaguely, wondering if he'd heard something.

Tarquin tutted and strutted out from behind the reception desk to stand within Cyril's field of rather suspect vision, if the thickness of his glasses were anything to go by. 'This is Ms Granger and Mr Malfoy!' he bawled into the old gent's ear. 'They're checking in!'

That was Cyril's cue. He stood up as straight as he possibly could, which was not at all. 'Good afternoon, sir, madam,' he wheezed, treating them to a genuine, if rather tooth-free smile. 'Would you care for some champagne?'

Hermione felt a little odd, being proffered with champagne in the middle of an otherwise empty hotel lobby in the afternoon, but she couldn't resist Cyril's gummy grin.

She perused the selection. Moët & Chandon, Pol Roger, Laurent Perrier, Taittinger. Not being familiar with champagne, she chose the only one she'd heard of. 'I'll have the Moët & Chandon, please,' she said loudly.

Cyril cupped his ear and leaned forward. 'You'll have to speak up, Mademoiselle,' he quavered. 'I'm a little hard of hearing.'

Hermione smiled, and pointed to the Moët.

'Excellent choice, Mademoiselle,' he said. 'And for the gentleman?'

Since Draco knew less about Muggle wine than she did, she indicated two glasses of the same.

Watching Cyril struggle with the bottle's wine stopper (she presumed health and safety laws forbade Cyril from removing the corks from unopened bottles) was a little hard to watch, but eventually he succeeded. He carefully poured two glasses of champagne into flutes with his trembling hands, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. Draco, who'd finished registering and was in possession of the suite's key card, stood next to Hermione and watched Cyril's performance with a perfectly blank face. Surprisingly, even to Cyril, he didn't spill a drop.

After watching Cyril stagger off with the trolley from whence he came, Tarquin hovered his hand over the porter-summoning bell. 'Any luggage?' he asked brightly.

'Not today,' Draco said with a wink, sending poor Tarquin into a dither again.

'Well, then! Enjoy your stay!' he trilled, watching the pair fondly as they headed to the antique wrought-iron lift.

* * *

While Hermione was exploring the rooms, Draco wasn't just standing around looking gorgeous. Oh, dear me, no. Once the door to the suite was firmly shut and locked, he took out his wand and un-disguised himself with an audible sigh of relief. Then he applied himself to casting 'Do Not Disturb' wards on the door and cast a _Muffliato_ around the suite. Then he plugged his phone in to charge.

He approached Hermione in the living room area with understandable caution. She'd yet to give him a piece of her mind about the ring.

She narrowed her eyes as he approached, but in confusion instead of apoplectic rage. 'How did you... you…?' She gave up hunting for words and cast about the room with her champagne flute.

He reddened and tucked his hands into his jeans. 'Daisy spent hours with me online last night helping me search and book the whole lot.'

She shook her head in utter amazement. Draco surprised her on an almost daily basis; some good, some she'd prefer not to recall. This surprise was right up there with the Room of Requirement he organised on his last night at Hogwarts. She stepped into his arms and held him tight, willing the tears in her eyes to disappear.

'I love you so much,' she whispered. 'Thank you.'

'I love you, too,' he replied, closing his eyes and letting himself experience the feel of her body against his. Then he hurriedly opened them. 'Um, about the ring' –

'It's okay,' she breathed, taking in his scent.

'I didn't want anyone to think less of you for us checking into a hotel for what most would assume was an afternoon of tawdry sex – pardon?'

Hermione looked into his magnetic silver eyes. 'Shut up, Malfoy.'

Then she kissed him. Hard.

* * *

Her body was practically thrumming with lust when they finally broke apart. She had to have him now. Right here on the hallucinogen-producing carpet.

'Wand,' she muttered against his mouth. Draco summoned it and muttered ' _Divesto_ ,' and ala-kazam, both were as naked as the day they were born.

'Hell,' gasped Draco as her hand wrapped around his erection, one that he'd been sporting more or less all damn day.

'Yes!' hissed Hermione as one of his long fingers brushed over her slick folds and slid inside her pussy, wet since lunchtime.

They looked each other in the eye; and tumbled to the floor.

On his back, Draco watched Hermione straddle his hips and lower herself slowly – far too slowly – onto his rock-hard cock.

She muffled her moan of satisfaction when he totally filled her body by clamping her hands to her mouth. A tear trailed down her cheek.

Draco sat up, cupping her face with his hands. 'Don't cry, love. Have I hurt you?'

'No,' she whispered. 'I've just missed you so much.'

Draco closed his eyes. Seeing her cry for any reason other than utter happiness felt like a stab to his heart. He drew her close and kissed her with agonising gentleness, tracing his tongue over her lips and sliding inside her mouth.

She met his kiss, undulating over his body, fucking him. Still sitting, he braced himself with his hands and watched her, his brilliant eyes locked on her face.

They stayed that way for a short while. She ground herself hard against his cock while he met each and every thrust. Hermione copied Draco by cupping her hands around Draco's face and plunging her tongue into his mouth.

'I've been wet for you for hours,' she breathed. Draco groaned into her mouth in response.

'I can't last, love,' he gritted. 'I've wanted you for too long.'

'It's okay,' she whispered, even as he felt the walls of her luscious pussy tighten. Her breath hitched, and she sped up her hips, milking his cock hard and sending Draco almost into delirium.

'Draco…!' A spasm shot through her body.

'Come for me, beautiful girl,' he whispered against her mouth. 'Drive me insane.'

She sobbed; then her orgasm shot through her body, electrifying it. She cried out, over and over, as her pussy clamped hard on his cock, then rippled around it.

'Fuck!' Draco hollered to the ceiling as his balls contracted. His back bowed as he came on a euphoric high, inside Hermione's warm, responsive body.

It seemed to go on forever.

Eventually, both bodies slowed, and stilled. Breathing hard, they shakily kissed.

Draco collapsed back onto the carpet, totally and utterly knackered. Hermione followed him, resting on his chest.

'The bed's upstairs, you know,' she smirked.

Draco emitted a groan so loud that the pigeons resting outside on the suite's windowsill shat themselves in fright and took off to quieter pastures, i.e. The Tower of London. They'd rather take their chances with the enormous, carnivorous resident ravens.

* * *

 **A/N: plenty more lemons where that came from! Watch out for the next chapter!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Slytherin's sainted socks, everyone! What an amazing response to chapter 6! Thank you so much!**

 **The majority of reviews came from guests, but I can't respond privately to them *wail*. This makes me sad because your reviews are so lovely. But I was asked some good questions, so please bear with me while I answer them here. Ta!**

 **Q: Will Ginny return to England?** **A: Definitely. In three or four chapters' time.**

 **Q: Will the Dorchesters reappear? A: Daisy and Noah will, maybe Samantha; I'm not one hundred percent sure about her yet. Probably not the Dad.**

 **Q: Will Blaise, Harry, Pansy and Ron appear? A: Absolutely! Plus Lavender and Theo. In fact, I think almost everyone's coming back.**

 **To the reviewer who suggested a very steamy game between Draco and Hermione – have a read of chapter 1 of Stopover Part 2, and let me know what you think… Please be eighteen or over.**

 **And finally, I'm very very sorry for not uploading chapter 6 in a timely fashion. Please forgive me by reading and reviewing this chapter.**

 **Right! I'm done. On with the show!**

 **Beware: LEMONS**

* * *

Draco and Hermione made it to the bed upstairs. Although, if you asked the stairs' opinion, it was a close thing.

They lay in their luxurious king bed, handcrafted by minions who manufacture top-of-the-line bespoke beds for the ridiculously rich, according to the hotel brochure Hermione was reading.

She was reading the brochure because Draco fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit his hand-stitched memory foam pillow. He didn't usually fall asleep after sex. Must be all that exposure to new technology that wore him out. Or that massive burger he demolished at lunch.

Omigod, she thought, sitting bolt upright, letting the fine cotton percale sheet slide to her waist. They have a library!

Ooh, and an honesty bar.

But a library!

Sod Draco. She's off Library-ing!

She had one foot out of the bed when an aristocratic voice demanded sleepily 'Whereareyougoing?'

She looked back at him. Draco hadn't moved from the position she last saw him adopt, aside from the fact that one eye was open. That eye was firmly focused on her breasts.

She lay back down, careful to keep her breasts on display. A little teasing never went amiss.

'Are you awake?'

He thought about it. 'I'm not sure.'

'In that case, I'm going to check out the hotel's library.' She patted him on the head. 'You stay here and get some sleep.'

She got as far as one foot out of the bed again, when a warm, golden arm snaked around her waist and pulled her back.

'You are not going to the Library, young lady,' he said in his Professor voice. 'Not without a tether, anyway. How big is it?'

'I'll find out and let you know.' She wriggled a leg free from the sheets, but the golden arm refused to lift.

She pouted. 'We've only got this afternoon to check this place out,' she said sadly.

Draco's lips curved up in a smile, even though the eye had closed. 'No, we don't.'

Hermione peered suspiciously at him, which he didn't notice because, well – closed eyes. She poked him in the arm. 'Explain, Malfoy.'

'I booked the suite for us to use for the rest of the time we're in London.'

Open-mouthed, Hermione let that sink in. 'You're unbelievable.'

'Unbelievably good or unbelievably bad?'

She smiled, leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. 'This time – good. Better than good, even. Possibly even tremendous.'

He smirked.

'Do you want me to stay?' she asked.

This time he was serious. 'I always want you to stay.'

She snuggled down and picked up her brochure again.

She gasped. 'Omigod! The hotel has a pet concierge! We could bring Crooks along so he can be pampered.'

At this, Draco reared up and covered her body with his, all parts of him looking very, very awake.

'Hell to the no,' he growled, before crashing his lips to hers.

* * *

Hermione was usually above aesthetics, but deep down, she was secretly awed that what must be one of the most gorgeous men in the United Kingdom – Wizard or Muggle – found her desirable, too. She loved his light-blonde hair. She loved the light golden colour of his skin. She loved the curve of his jaw and the way his light stubble rasped against her skin when there was no daylight between them.

She loved his body, the slim form that contained hard, toned muscle that shifted and rippled under his skin as he moved.

She really loved his cock, the size of which has already been mentioned. And how he kept his balls and surrounding area hair-free – everything felt silky, smooth and warm.

But she couldn't get enough of his glacier-grey eyes, so vivid and distinct. He'd make her shiver when he'd convey a message to her with only a look.

I love you.

I want you.

You mean everything to me.

But best of all, she loved looking into his eyes when his face was between her legs, his tongue stabbing into her soaking wet cunt or flicking quickly over her clitoris, driving her mad with desire, lust and pure, raw need.

As he was now.

He'd made her come twice already. Her entire body trembled from the after-shock of her orgasms, but he wouldn't relent. Exhausted, she propped herself up on her arms and watched him suck her clitoris into his mouth, while spearing two fingers into her thoroughly wet channel.

'No!' she warned, gasping. 'You're going to make me pass out.'

His eyes sparked, and he surged his fingers in and out of her cunt with hard, impossibly fast strokes. He spread her folds with two fingers and laid her clit bare, lashing it with his tongue.

She fell back on the bed, wailing. 'Draco, please!' she begged. Please stop? She wondered. Please don't stop? She was so addled she didn't know what she wanted.

Her brain stepped aside, and she let her body do what it wanted.

The orgasm she felt approaching was different to the ones she had before. This seemed to generate from somewhere in her pelvis, pressing on her bladder.

Oh, hell. She wants to pee now? Stupid body, she grizzled to herself.

She clamped her pelvis muscles in an effort to stave off the urge. Draco felt the result grip his fingers, and he moaned around her clit.

Oh, God, the feeling was building. Along with the most delicious urge that was winding her body into a tight coil, came the embarrassing realisation that unless Draco got out of the way pretty quickly, she was going to accidentally urinate on him. Which she knew was a thing for some people. Whether Draco was into it or not was irrelevant, because she certainly wasn't.

'Draco…'

He looked at her, but didn't let his fingers or tongue slow.

'Draco,' she moaned, 'this is important!'

He kept up the punishing pace with his fingers. 'What?'

Her cheeks crimson red, she looked up at the ceiling and wailed 'I think I'm going to pee!'

He laughed.

The bastard actually laughed!

'You're not going to pee, love.'

'Yeah?' she panted. 'How the – omigod – hell would you – ooooh! – know?'

He gave her a look. In his eyes, she read: 'Love, I've slept with more girls than Weasley's had hot dinners. Do you really want me to tell you how I know?'

On second thoughts, she could always just trust him.

'However…' He paused while he ran his tongue over her labia and flicked over her clitoris.

Hermione's entire body was shaking and perspiration dotted her brow. 'What?' she screamed. 'What, for the love of fucking Merlin?'

'You might' –

Her voice cracked on a long wail as she experienced the most intense orgasm she'd ever had. Euphoria pulsed through every pore of her body, her cunt gripped Draco's fingers so hard he yelped, and to her utmost shame and outrage, liquid gushed from her body, streaming onto his hand and bed.

She collapsed onto the bed, panting.

'- squirt,' finished Draco, impressed.

Hermione took a deep breath and released it. Took another deep breath - and released it. Then she leapt off the bed, rounded on Draco and shoved him in the shoulders, hard.

'Hey!'

'You lying sack of shit!' she roared. 'I trusted you, and I wet the fucking bed! And you! Oh my God, this is beyond humiliating…'

Draco buttoned up the exasperated sigh that would otherwise have left his mouth and _accio'd_ his wand. 'First of all – _Tergeo!_ '

The stain on the once-pristine bed linen was just a memory, and his hand was clean and dry.

'Second of all' – he picked up Hermione's phone and handed it to her. 'Why don't you look it up and see for yourself?'

'You bet I will, buster,' she snapped and stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door.

Draco let the sigh go. And did a little hair-clutching, followed by some muttering at the ceiling.

* * *

Perched on the closed toilet seat, Hermione Googled half a dozen respectable, scientific websites and sped-read through the lot.

Once she was done, she wasn't that much further ahead in terms of her education. Okay. Female ejaculation is a thing. What it consists of and where it originates – the jury's still out.

She relaxed her research standards and looked a few women's magazines. The main takeaway from their inane chitter-chatter was that some women are capable of it, some aren't. Some might, but they'll never know, because neither they, nor their partner/s, have figured out how.

She put her phone down and sighed. I may have been the biggest brainy swot at Hogwarts, she thought, but I need to accept that there are things Draco knows that I don't.

Let's face it.

It _was_ a pretty amazing orgasm.

She stood up and ran some water into one of the basins, splashing her face and rinsing her hands. Her eyes fell on the dinky little (real glass!) bottles of toiletries with tiny wee stoppers. She un-stoppered the conditioner bottle and took an inquisitive sniff.

Oh. My. God. Who makes this stuff? I want a bathtub full of it _immediately._

She glanced at the bathroom door. A thought formed in her curly head.

Palming the conditioner bottle and picking up her phone, she left the bathroom.

* * *

Draco sat on the bed, enveloped in one of the hotel's impossibly fluffy bathrobes (yet still managing to look undeniably and sexily man-like) playing a game on his phone. He looked up warily when Hermione approached, then climbed languorously onto the bed next to him.

He pressed 'pause' on his game but kept silent, waiting to see which particular Hermione he would be dealing with.

Her large chocolate eyes looked into his, and she threaded a hand through the back of his hair. 'I'm sorry, Draco,' she said softly. 'I was' – she looked away - 'well, embarrassed' doesn't really cover it, but it'll do.'

His free arm snaked around her waist.

Turning back to him, she said 'You've taught me new things about myself. Thank you.'

Draco put his phone to one side. He drew her into his fluffy arms and kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips. 'It's okay, love.'

'I'm sorry about my temper,' she said disconsolately. 'I'll try to' –

She was stopped by a long, slim finger on her lips. 'Remember what I said the last time you apologised for your temper, kitten. You wouldn't be you without it.'

Her cheeks warmed.

Then he tugged her chin up with his finger and spoke close to her lips. 'You know you have no reason to be embarrassed with me.'

She smiled tremulously. 'Sharing my life with someone takes some getting used to.'

Draco, who'd had many lovers but had never let anyone into his life before, agreed.

She touched his shoulders again – gently this time – and laid him down on the bed. 'Your turn.'

'You don't have to, love,' he demurred. Inside his head though, a little voice shouted 'Oh, thank Merlin!'

It was her turn to give him a look. Hers said: 'I know what your head is saying.'

He let her part the fluffy folds of his gown.

* * *

She spent a lot of time exploring his erection with her lips, mouth and tongue. She kept her hands away from temptation by running them over Draco's muscled thighs, applying gentle pressure that made those muscles ripple.

Encouraged by his low moans, she worked her way down his erection with her mouth, swallowing more of him, bit by bit. She took her hands off his thighs and wrapped one around the base of his cock, and gently held his balls with the other.

'Oh, my gods,' he groaned, spreading his legs a little further.

She made sure his cock was good and wet before she removed her lips and took one testicle in her mouth. Stroking his cock, her tongue swirled around the delicate organ. She felt his cock spasm under her hand when he gasped out loud.

She did the same with his other testicle, while tracing a path along his perineum with her index finger. His hips bucked in response; she looked up.

A fine sheen of sweat lined his torso. He'd wrenched his arms out of the fluffy robe. One hand was in his damp hair, and another was clutching the headboard. She couldn't see his eyes; his head was thrown back. He was moaning in low tones almost constantly.

She swirled her tongue around the head of his cock before engulfing it in her mouth again. While she distracted him with her tongue and lips, she surreptitiously opened the little bottle and applied the conditioner to her finger.

Curious, a little nervous, she pressed the lubricated finger to his arsehole, and spread the conditioner around the entrance.

Draco reared up, his stomach muscles clenching as he gaped at her. 'Are you sure?' he gritted.

She pulled his cock out of her mouth and smiled sardonically. 'Do you want it?'

His silver eyes glittered. 'I want anything you do to me.'

Her heart beat a little faster. 'Lie back,' she whispered.

He fell back instead, every part of his body thrumming.

Re-lubricating her finger, she applied her mouth and other hand to his cock while she worked around the entrance to his arse.

Now or never.

She breached the entrance to his anus with her finger and slowly moved inside.

Draco's reaction was electrifying. He practically howled at the ceiling and his thighs shook. 'More, love,' he pleaded, 'it feels so fucking amazing…'

When her finger was in as far as it could go, she pulled back about half way, then pushed forward again. She did this over and over, not neglecting his cock, while Draco muttered 'gods, gods, gods' under his breath. His cock, under Hermione's hand and mouth, was as hard as stone.

''Mione…' He said her name on a gasp.

'Yes?' she whispered.

'… two fingers in me…'

She gently eased her finger from his body, and applied conditioner to her middle as well as index finger. Hoping he knew what he was doing, because she sure as hell didn't, she put both to the entrance of his arse – and slid inside.

His body bowed off the bed. 'Fuck!' he screamed in a strangled voice.

Scared, Hermione started to withdraw.

'No, don't! It feels so fucking good, love, I'm so close, please don't stop…'

So she moved both fingers further into his body, withdrawing and repeating, slowly speeding up. She stroked his cock and sucked hard on as much of it as she could fit into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing. All the while, Draco revelled in the most exquisite pleasure-pain with random, half-completed words falling from his lips as Hermione inched him closer and closer to insanity.

'Oh gods oh gods... Hermione… ARGH!'

He exploded in Hermione's mouth. His sperm erupted from his cock with such speed that she felt most of it hit the back of her throat.

His orgasm seemed to go on forever, encouraged by the constant stimulation of her mouth and fingers. Eventually, when he was completely wrung out of sperm and energy, his muscles relaxed and he slumped back onto the bed, breathing hard.

Slowly, Hermione withdrew his fingers from his arse and removed her mouth from his cock. She climbed off the bed, on her way to the bathroom, but first went and stood by the bed near his body.

His clear eyes stared up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling erratically.

'You okay?' she asked softly.

With effort, he turned his head her way. 'I'm never letting you go,' he rasped. 'Just so you know.'

'What – just because I can give you a decent orgasm?' she teased.

He shook his head. 'No. Because you're the best thing that's ever happened to me.'

Tears pricked at her eyes.

'And also, your fingers are the perfect size for my arse.' He winked.

She headed to the bathroom, showing him one of those fingers in a rude gesture. His laughter followed her.

* * *

 **Early evening**

Next to the bed, Hermione's phone beeped. She reached over, with difficulty, to retrieve it, since Draco had an arm around her waist and wasn't in the mood for letting her go, even for a second.

Triumphant, Hermione snuggled back into her wizard-pillow and looked at the screen. 'It's a phone message from Mum.' She retrieved it and played it on speaker phone.

 _Hello dear, I hope you and Draco are having a lovely time –_

'We are indeed, thank you,' smirked Draco, wincing when she pinched his arm.

 _I was wondering if you'd be home for dinner. Actually, I'm hoping you'll be home for dinner because a couple of owls have arrived. One is that rather odd-looking wee thing from the Weasley's. I don't recognise the other one, but it's a huge black monster that's chasing the Weasley's little owl around the house, de-feathering it, not that it needs less feathers; and it's even taken a clump or two out of Cookshank's fur. He's now hiding behind the china hutch and won't come out. Your father's shut himself in the study and won't come out until they go. He's worried the big owl might make off with what's left of his hair._

 _Neither owl will leave, so I presume the letter writers want replies. The Weasley letter is for you, dear. As far as I can tell – it won't let me get close – the monster's letter is for Draco._

 _So, if you wouldn't mind popping home at your earliest, I'd be very thankful. Also, I hope your wands are good at cleaning up owl droppings. The more I clean, the more they plop, it seems. Cheerio, darling!_

Draco and Hermione looked at each other.

'There's always tomorrow,' she whispered, kissing him.

'After all, tomorrow is another day,' said Draco brightly, and wondered why Hermione laughed and called him Scarlett.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm pleased I got this (slightly smaller) chapter uploaded on September 22** **nd** **, a certain birthday for an actor/musician whose initials are T and F. May he be constantly stopped in the street and greeted as 'Draco Malfoy' for many more years to come!**

 **Ngā mihi nui i tō rā whanau - wishing you many happy returns of the day.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Apologies for accidentally pasting chapter 7 of Stopover 2 over chapter 7 of this fic. Serves me right for wanting to make quick edits to two chapters of two stories at the same time…**

 **Look out - lemons below!**

* * *

Suitably showered and decently attired, Draco and Hermione bussed back to the Granger home. Once inside, they discovered a firmly locked study door, a vibrating china hutch with Crookshanks quivering behind it, and a bedraggled-looking Jean, slouched at the kitchen table with a brandy. A shivering Pigwidgeon sat on the table, wrapped in a flannel facecloth and perched lopsidedly on a half-hot hot rock.

Bird droppings patterned the floors and surfaces of the kitchen and hallway in ample quantities. A rhythmic thumping sound could be heard in the background.

'Oh! Hello, dears,' Jean said as happily as she could muster. 'I managed to lock the black owl in the conservatory. Draco, as our guest I hate to ask, but would you mind' –

'Not at all,' assured Draco. 'I'll sort him out right away.'

Hermione gripped his arm, her eyes round with worry. 'Be careful,' she whispered.

He nodded, and brandished his wand.

He followed a path of bird droppings to the conservatory. It didn't escape his notice that the thumping sound was getting louder.

'Wait!'

Draco whirled around. It was Hermione, creeping up behind him, clutching her wand and some owl treats. 'I thought you might need back-up,' she said in response to his raised eyebrows.

He wasn't sure whether to be comforted by her concern, or insulted by her assumption that he needed assistance with one measly owl. He parked the thought for later contemplation.

He led the expedition to the conservatory, where he discovered the origin of the thumps. A massive black owl was banging his head against the glass conservatory door. Draco presumed it knew it didn't have a hope of breaking out, so it was just doing it to intimidate the household.

Draco smiled. 'Fluffy!' he called cheerfully.

The black beast ceased its headbanging, looked up and fluttered calmly to a bamboo-framed sofa which, unfortunately, had now seen better days.

Hermione boggled. 'Fluffy?'

'It's Blaise's owl,' Draco said. 'He named him 'Fluffy' when he was a tiny little fuzzy owlet. I've known him for almost as long as Blaise has.'

He entered the conservatory. Fluffy gracefully settled on his outstretched arm and meekly stuck out its leg holding the now rather sorry-looking letter.

Relieved, Hermione handed Draco the owl treats. 'Enjoy your reunion!' she said, and headed back to the kitchen to read her own missive.

Draco fed Fluffy some treats and surveyed his prison cell. The owl was nothing if not thorough in his application of destructive force. Every cushion that once adorned the bamboo furniture had the stuffing literally ripped out of it. Nearly every potted plant in the room had been overturned and smashed, with plants and potting mix scattered over a liberal distance. The only pot plant that survived Fluffy's carnage was a tall, heavy palm tree, but going by the gouges in the soil and the claw marks on the pot, he'd given it a jolly good go. Bird droppings covered the floor where the soil didn't make it. He wrinkled his nose at the mess and the smell.

He shook his head at Fluffy. 'These people are my friends,' he gently chided.

Fluffy crunched on a treat and didn't give a toss.

Sighing, Draco unsealed Blaise's letter and read it.

* * *

A few minutes later, Draco entered the kitchen, clutching the letter. 'I'm sorry about the state of your conservatory,' he said apologetically to Jean. 'I'll fix the furniture. And the pots. And the plants. And the floor.'

Jean reached for the brandy and refilled her glass.

'How's Blaise?' asked Hermione, looking up from her letter.

'Yeah, he's good,' Draco replied, sitting next to her. 'He's invited us to stay with him in Italy for the rest of the holidays.'

'Ooh, that sounds lovely!' said Jean, looking and sounding a little woozy.

But Hermione was biting her lip.

'Is there a problem?' Draco asked.

'Well…' Hermione proffered her own letter. 'Molly Weasley's invited us to spend the rest of the holidays at The Burrow.'

'Ooh, that sounds lovely!' echoed Jean.

'Ah.' Draco exhaled.

They looked at each other cautiously.

'You know I won't be welcome at the Weasleys,' he said.

'You are welcome! Look, Molly invited you!' She rattled the letter.

His lip curled before he could stop himself.

Hermione's expression hardened. 'You don't want to go.'

'Well, we've got Blaise's invitation to consider,' he protested, dodging mightily.

She sneered. 'You're such a coward. And a snob.'

Draco's temper approached ignition. 'Blaise did want to kill me not too long ago,' he said in a deceptively light tone. 'If I refused to see him, would you still call me cowardly?'

She let out a loud breath. 'Ron won't be there,' she argued. 'It'll just be Molly, Arthur, the twins, Harry, maybe Bill and Fleur' – she stopped, her eyes wide.

Draco's eyes flashed and he crossed his arms. 'Yeah. And don't forget Weaselette, of course.'

Hermione turned pale. She'd never had to look Draco's previous life in the eye before.

Her heart hurt.

Not because of what he did with Fleur and Ginny; that was in the past. But she realised that if she and Draco were to have a future together, she'd have to spend time with her dear friends without Draco, and her time with Draco without her friends. The two never coming together.

What kind of life would that be?

She felt traitorous tears approaching from within.

In as even a voice as she could muster, she said 'Well, how about I stay at The Burrow, you stay with Blaise, and we'll meet up some time before college starts?'

Draco, oblivious to Hermione's mood, snorted with derision. 'Don't be ridiculous' –

'S-sorry, I just remembered something important I have to do!' stammered Hermione, bolting out of her chair and backing out of the kitchen. 'I-I won't be here for dinner after all, Mum. Sorry.'

Draco stared at the doorway, now bereft of a Hermione. A 'pop' of apparition confirmed her disappearance.

What the -

Jean topped up her brandy again. 'I think you just fucked up, dear,' she slurred.

'Mrrraow,' came doleful agreement from behind the china hutch.

* * *

Bewildered and annoyed, Draco set about making things right at the Granger household. He scribbled a quick note to Blaise, telling him there'll be a reply in the coming days. He opened the conservatory door to the garden and let Fluffy fly free.

Next, he spent a considerable amount of time cleaning and fixing the owl-abused items and surfaces around the house. After that, he knocked on the study door and told Andrew it was safe to come out and headed to the kitchen, where Jean was slouched over the kitchen table, asleep, with Pigwidgeon, also asleep, perched in her hair.

He cleaned the bird droppings and debris from the kitchen, coaxed a timid Crookshanks out from behind the china hutch, and retired to his bedroom to think.

While spell-casting wasn't a particularly physical activity, he did find that the energy he spent in putting the house to rights had tempered his temper, shall we say.

Lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with Crookshanks rumbling on his chest, he saw a resolution to what earlier looked like an unresolvable problem. They could do one week at _Chez_ Weasel, and one week at Blaise's. This Solomon-esque solution was sure to appeal to Hermione's sense of fair play.

He could tolerate a week of Weasels. How hard could it be?

But she wasn't angry when she left, was she?

He'd heard that hitch in her voice before, and it made him tense up every time.

She was trying not to cry.

If she missed the colony of Weasels that much, maybe he should let her go for the two weeks. He'd miss her like hell at Blaise's, but he could always avail himself of the Zabini's impressive drinks cabinet and drink himself into a stupor every night.

Now, where could she have gone?

He closed his eyes and thought hard of a place she loved to go to, where she felt safe and secure…

He opened his eyes, dumped Crooks on the bed, and stood up.

* * *

Hermione ran her fingers along the wrought-iron filigree of Hogwarts's entrance gates. She knew that with a simple _Alohamora_ , she could traipse up the drive and take solace in any number of venues in the school, but…

I'm not a little girl anymore, she thought.

The winged boars, sentinels of the gates, looked on impassively.

She rubbed at her tear-stained cheeks.

I can't choose, she realised despondently. If Draco refuses to have anything to do with the Weasleys, or Neville, or Luna, that's the way it will have to be.

Maybe it won't be so bad.

Another tear slid down her cheek.

Why can't he just _try?_

* * *

The sound of footsteps from behind made her jump. God, how embarrassing, to be found bawling outside the school gates.

'I thought you'd be in the library,' a quiet voice said.

'That was my intention.'

Draco broke the awful silence that followed. 'Please turn around, love.'

Reluctantly, she did, forcing herself to meet his slate eyes with her ugly, puffy red ones.

He closed his eyes, as if in pain, before opening them once more. 'Hermione…' he whispered.

Three steps later, she was safe in his arms, with no daylight between them.

'I'm sorry,' he murmured against her hair.

'So am I,' she said, and sought his lips before the waterworks decided to start up again.

* * *

They sat together on a nearby fallen log.

In fits and starts, Hermione told Draco why she was upset. He listened in silence, feeling like a whopping great big bastard.

After all. It's just a week.

Might get some Quidditch games in.

So long as he slept with one eye open, making sure the ginger twins didn't permanently alter some part of his anatomy under the guise of one of their 'jokes.'

Draco took Hermione's hand. 'I was going to suggest that we spend one week at the Weasleys and one week at Blaise's, but if you want to spend both weeks there' –

'Wait a sec.' Hermione peered at him. 'You said 'we spend one week at the Weasleys.''

Draco sighed silently. 'Yep.'

She crawled onto his lap and hugged him. 'Thank you,' she murmured. 'And I'd love to spend a week at Blaise's place, so don't think you're getting rid of me that easily.'

He grinned, and they kissed a happy make-up kiss.

Soon, it became obvious that unless alternative arrangements were made, Draco and Hermione would soon be demonstrating to the local flora and fauna what it really meant to 'get back to nature'.

He freed his lips from her collarbone. 'I have an idea.'

With difficulty, he manoeuvred his phone past his erection and out of his pocket. He composed a text:

 _I've found Hermione, she's fine. But we'd like to have some time alone to talk through our disagreement in some privacy. I hope it will be okay if we make alternative arrangements for tonight._

He showed it to Hermione, who bit her lip, but nodded and said 'Send it.'

He sent the message to Jean's phone.

Five minutes later, Draco's phone beeped. There was a text and a photo attachment.

The text said:

 _Glad she's ok. Understand need for privacy. Will let Jean know when she wakes up. We'll see you when we see you. Andrew._

He seems to have a more rational view of the need for his wife's sex ed class, Draco noted.

He opened the attachment, and handed the phone to Hermione, smirking.

'Aww…' she cooed.

Andrew snapped a photo of Pigwidgeon, still perched in a sleeping Jean's coiffure, with Crookshanks shoehorned into her arms.

* * *

They apparated to the Leaky Cauldron, and exited onto London's Charing Cross Road. They hopped on the Line 24 bus, which took them to the top of Buckingham Palace Road. A few minutes later, they were back in their hotel suite, as if the past few hours never happened.

In the living room, Draco drew Hermione into his arms, acknowledging just how _right_ she felt there. Even if she was a shorty.

'Do you want to talk?' he murmured.

She raised on her tiptoes and kissed him. 'We'll talk later.'

She took him by the hand and led him upstairs.

* * *

Hermione thought she wanted hard, fast, raw sex to exorcise the last few hours from her mind. But Draco assumed control and wanted the opposite.

However, when he laid her, naked, on the bed and entered her willing body so intimately, she remembered her mini-epiphany in the bathroom earlier that afternoon.

 _I need to accept there are things that Draco knows that I don't._

It appeared he knew her body better than she did.

Her pussy sealed around his cock, and she wrapped her slim legs around his waist, drawing him closer.

He hadn't moved since he entered her. Looking into his eyes, she saw love, rather than lust, reflected in them.

He spoke, and the words brought a lump to her throat.

'I'm arrogant, often insensitive, and sometimes I'll say the wrong thing. But never doubt me, Hermione Granger. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you. I never want to see you cry because of something I did or said. I love you. Always remember that.'

He kissed her with infinite tenderness. She felt her body react to his simple, but heartfelt words.

'What if you make me cry from happiness?' she whispered against his mouth.

He shook his head, smiling. And began to move inside her.

* * *

She knew it wasn't easy for him to say those words. He could have showed her with his body what she meant to him instead; she would have understood. But because he had to sacrifice some pride, she treasured those words all the more.

His movements inside her body were graceful, gentle and fluid. His silver gaze never left hers. She only had to lift her face a tiny fraction for their lips to meet. Her fingers wound through his hair, as did his fingers through hers.

His gentle movements made every part of her pussy feel languorous and tingly. When he shifted his pelvis to connect with her clitoris, the desire that strummed through her body almost shocked her.

His eyes darkened as she cried out. Keeping to the same rhythm, he lowered his blonde head to her breasts and licked one, starting from the underside and ending at a pink nipple.

'Oh, God…' Hermione breathed, lost.

He flicked his eyes up to her face, then pulled the nipple into his mouth and tugged with his teeth.

Her resulting cry rang in his ears and he drew in a breath at the feel of her muscles rippling around his cock in her infinitely wetter core. Slowly licking the nipple, he suddenly pinched the other one between his thumb and forefinger.

Her body bucked beneath his. 'Draco - dear gods, now,' she moaned.

He surged hard inside her, building up her pleasure to an almost unbearable level. She held him tight when she broke, moaning into his mouth when her entire body shuddered in release.

Draco let go, closing his eyes when his orgasm speared through him.

He lowered himself to the bed and drew her body against his.

They stayed that way for a long time.

* * *

 _Hermione felt fuzzy and light-headed. She didn't particularly like it, but she had little choice. She was sick of listening, or trying not to listen, to Parvati and Lavender giggle about cocks and positions and orgasms, and look down their noses (she suspected) at her virginal state._

 _She knew the pair were sexually active, but she suspected that most of their knowledge came from the Muggle romances she brought in. She couldn't imagine Ron with his 'iron-hard and throbbing tumescence plundering' Lavender's 'petal-soft folds of her womanhood.' Eww._

 _Anyway, she'd had enough, so by hook or by crook, she was bound and determined to lose her virginity before she went back to school. Not that she'd tell anyone. It would be her little secret._

 _Trouble was, the summer hols were drawing to a close, and she was still as pure as the driven snow. There were hardly any boys around her neighbourhood. It was like she got rejected in advance._

 _She had one shot left. The Dorchesters were coming over for a BBQ this evening._

* * *

 _As far as blokes went, Noah Dorchester wasn't bad-looking. He appeared to be going through a growth spurt, and his arms and legs seemed out of kilter with his torso. He had a prominent Adam's apple and a smattering of acne on his cheeks, but beggars can't be choosers, right? The number of times Malfoy's given her shit over six years about her hair stood testament to her beggar status. How he managed to come up with a unique and even witty insult every single damn time made her mind boggle._

 _She shoved Malfoy out of her mind. Arrogant dickhead._

 _On Noah's list of assets, he had nice brown hair and rather lovely green eyes. The braces had come off his teeth, so his smile was at least a seven out of ten._

 _Trouble was, he a pompous, slimy, self-centred plonker who favoured his own voice far above anyone else's._

 _Hence her fuzzy light-headedness. She figured three-quarters of a bottle of wine should have been enough to tolerate Noah's braying, but his voice still drilled a hole through her head._

 _Oh, well. No time like the present._

* * *

 _Hermione had a rather seductive speech planned, but when she cornered him in the utility room, she struggled to get a word in between his monologue on the subjects he was going to take next year at Eton, because that's where he went to school. Did she know that? Terribly prestigious school, didn't she know?_

 _She sighed, and grabbed him by the v-neck of his cricket vest. In the infinitesimal pause he inadvertently granted her, she ordered 'Come up to my bedroom.'_

 _Noah blinked, at a loss for words, possibly for the first time ever. 'Er. Why?'_

 _She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him. 'That's why.'_

 _Stepping back, she almost literally saw a light bulb switch on over his head. 'Oh, I say!' he brayed, leering at her._

 _She laid a finger on his lips. 'No talking,' she whispered, then led the way to her room._

* * *

 _She shoved Noah into her bedroom, then locked it and surreptitiously sound-proofed the room. It looked like Noah had never been in the bedroom of a girl he wasn't related to before, and he was gaping at her bookcases like he'd never even heard of a printing press._

 _He reached out to take a book, when he received a smart slap on the hand. 'Ow!'_

 _He turned around to see Hermione glaring at him. 'No touching. Take your clothes off.'_

 _For the second time, Noah struggled for words. 'Sorry, what?'_

 _She crossed her arms. 'I want to have sex with you.'_

 _Choirs of angels filled his ears with heavenly music as he boggled at her. In a trice, his shoes and cricket vest were scattered to the corners of her room, followed quickly by his t-shirt._

 _'Wait!' Hermione said as he gripped the fly of his shorts. 'Maybe we should take things a little slower,' she amended, biting her lip and looking at her toes._

 _As long as he got to attack her pink fortress with his turgid shaft (he secretly read his Mum's romance books), Noah didn't care. 'Whatever you say, angel,' he said, swaggering over to the bed, where she now sat._

 _He enthusiastically launched himself at her and pinned her to the bed. He devoured her lips with his, stabbing ineffectually with his tongue until she mentally rolled her eyes and opened her mouth for her first French kiss._

 _Well._

 _Hermione had no bloody idea why millions of people all over the world liked it. Her head was forced into the pillows by the power of his lunging tongue. He seemed so determined to conquer her throat with his tongue that he'd given up kissing her altogether. His mouth was just an open maw of uselessness. Saliva brimmed over her lips and drenched her lower face._

 _She wrenched her head to the side so she could breathe._

 _As she lay there, taking huge gasping breaths and rubbing saliva off her face, he smirked 'Took your breath away, did I?'_

 _When she looked back at him in amazement, he swooped in for another go, mouth already open._

 _She stilled him with a hand to his sternum. 'I want to see your body,' she said as convincingly as she could muster._

 _Noah's eyes – and, for some reason, his nose – flared. He stood up, undid his shorts and yanked them down, hopping about the room to jettison them off his feet._

 _He has an okay body, Hermione surmised. A nice body, maybe? It seemed in proportion to the rest of him. His chest was lightly tanned, which surprised her._

 _After Noah escaped the evil clutches of his shorts, he stood before her in his underwear. Her eyes widened. His erection – of reasonable size - was straining against its confines, and there was a dark wet splotch at the end. She could practically see his cock pulse._

 _'I really want you, Hermione,' he said half-desperately, half-hopefully._

 _Well, d'uh, she thought._

 _She hopped off the bed. 'Lie down,' she tried to say in a sultry manner._

 _Half a second later, he was in place, watching her hungrily._

 _You can do this, you can do this, she said in her head, and removed her t-shirt._

 _'Oh, God!' Noah moaned, and plunged a hand into his undies._

 _Crikey, she thought, he's really beating away at it._

 _She took a breath, undid her shorts, and let them fall to the floor._

 _Noah's mouth opened and closed like a landed fish._

 _Clad in her nicest matching bra and panties, she climbed onto the bed and straddled his erection. Hmm, it felt rather nice, rubbing along it. Noah uttered a loud groan. Notwithstanding the soundproofing spell, she put her fingers to her lips. 'Shh,' she said coquettishly, 'or I won't remove anything else.'_

 _That shut him up. Rather effectively, in fact. A pity she couldn't utilise it on him outside the bedroom, when it was in most desperate need._

 _She leaned forward, but dodged his mouth when he proffered it up. Instead, she kissed his throat, collarbones, and moved her way slowly down his chest. She followed the line of hair that tracked from his navel and headed south, but stopped at his waistband._

 _She sat up, grinding lightly over his erection, playing idly with one of her bra straps._

 _Noah's face was red, and funny-sounding whimpers left his mouth._

 _Oh, well. Might as well get it over with._

 _She unclipped her bra, holding a hand over her front while she slowly peeled one strap, then the other, down her arms. His eyes bulged from their sockets. 'Hermione…' he moaned._

 _She peeled the bra away from her breasts, and dropped it on the bed. She brushed her fingers along the sides of each one, and –_

 _'AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!' bellowed Noah, as his body bucked violently - and he made a rather large mess in the front of his undies._

* * *

'Argh!' screamed Hermione as she sat bolt upright in bed, shivering like a leaf.

'It's okay, love, it's okay,' came a quiet, calm voice next to her in the dark.

She reached out a hand, searching for Draco's touch. He pulled her into his embrace, rubbing a comforting hand over her back. 'It was just a dream,' he whispered against her cheek.

She clung to him. 'Oh, thank God,' she whispered in relief.

* * *

 **A/N: Aww, their first fight... but Draco gets a ten out of ten for making up!**

 **I had some requests to document Noah and Hermione's 'premature' encounter. Hope you enjoyed it - but not as much as Noah did ;)**

 **Thank you so much for reading my story, as always x**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I meant for this to be a short chapter so I could get stuck into sorting out a certain cliff-hanger in Stopover 2 chapter 9 (ahem), so naturally, it became the longest chapter of the story so far. And I took a** _ **lot**_ **of stuff out from the original draft.**

 **But without further ado, here 'tis!**

* * *

The next morning, Draco and Hermione headed back to the Grangers to change and send Pigwidgeon home with a reply for Molly. The little owl was sorry to have to vacate Mrs Granger's hairdo, but it couldn't be helped.

Draco wrote a note for Blaise that he'd send from Diagon Alley when they returned to the city later.

The couple tactfully didn't raise the topic of spending the night away, and Jean just as tactfully didn't raise the topic of what they no doubt got up to when they spent the night away. Andrew was at work, missing all the tactfulness.

Today, Hermione decided, they would visit the Tower of London. Parts of it are very ghoulish, Hermione promised Draco. 'You'll love it!'

Draco sipped his tea and hoped the ghouls, assuming they saw any, wouldn't be related to Peeves in any way.

* * *

The first thing Draco noticed when they entered the sprawling Tower grounds was the variety of architecture present. It wasn't, as its name plainly suggested, just one tower. The Tower of London consisted of a heck of a lot of different towery- and non-towery-type buildings built over many years and enclosed by many, many metres of tall walls and a lush green lawn that used to be a moat. It kicked off in 1066 with William the Conqueror, and kept growing over the centuries.

They stood at the edge of a tour group listening to a blue and scarlet-uniformed Yeoman Warder talk about the Tower and all the exciting things they could do in it.

'Why are you lot called Beefeaters?' called out a mischievous little scamp, ignored by his mother, whose fingers appeared to be surgically attached to her phone.

Laughing heartily, as if he'd never heard the question before, whereas in reality he was probably asked it every damn day and twice on Sundays, he replied: 'The most likely reason is that back in the old days, instead of receiving a salary, we were paid in chunks of beef.'

Draco edged a little closer to Hermione. 'What's a salary?' he hissed in her ear.

'It's the money people earn when they work,' she whispered.

He looked stunned. 'You mean people work in exchange for money?'

She gaped at him, then narrowed her eyes. 'Stop taking the piss!' she griped, and stalked off, his laughter trailing behind her.

'Oh, come on!' he called out. 'I had you there for a few seconds – admit it!'

* * *

Next on Hermione's itinerary, whether Draco liked it or not, were the Crown Jewels.

The earliest they dated back to was the 1660s, after a turbulent few years when the country became a republic, and anything related to the monarchy was suddenly and dangerously out of fashion. Such as kings and Crown Jewels. Slowly added to over the years with precious metals, jewels and finest fabrics, the collection housed a number of crowns, plates, insignia, robes, medals, maces, swords, sceptres, orbs and royal christening fonts. No collection would be complete without a christening font, don't you know.

Draco peered at the displays, symbols of immense wealth and power. 'What's their worth?' he asked out of the corner of his mouth, like a bad caricature of a thief casing the joint before trying his hand at some light-fingering.

'Well,' Hermione pondered, 'the most expensive single item is the Great Star of Africa - it's a massive diamond set into the Sovereign's Sceptre with the Cross. That's about £357 million. Collectively, the Jewels are worth around £2.4 billion.'

So, taking the pound-Galleon conversion factor into consideration, Draco mused, that's… um… carry the one… ah! About half a billion Galleons.

He looked a little disappointed.

'What's the matter?' Hermione asked.

He looked around shiftily. She sighed and wondered what the people monitoring the security cameras were thinking.

'Your Queen's not terribly well off, is she?' he whispered sympathetically. 'Has she fallen on hard times?'

Hermione looked at him as if he'd grown two heads. 'Are you taking the piss again?'

'Of course not!' he sniffed. 'It's just the total worth of her knick-knacks is only about half that of our family's collection. If the Wizarding world had a monarch, I'd expect them to way outstrip anything our vaults contained.'

Hermione didn't think her eyebrows could shoot up any higher, but she surprised even herself.

'Are the Malfoys the richest family in the Wizarding world?' she asked faintly.

'There are a couple of families with a higher net worth,' he admitted. Then he waved a hand dismissively. 'But they're new money.'

Hermione's mouth was open, but speech had left her.

'So!' Draco rubbed his hands together. 'What's next?'

* * *

They headed outside again to see the famous ravens.

Ravens have lived in the Tower of London grounds for hundreds of years. Some say they were attracted to the smell of blood resulting from the frequent executions, and liked it so much they decided to stay. What they did to the executed head of Lady Jane Grey in 1554 does not bear repeating.

Legend has it that if the ravens ever left the Tower, 'the Crown will fall and Britain with it!' So Ravenmasters of yore (and present) have taken a few measures to shorten the odds in their favour, such as clipping their wings, housing them in escape-proof aviaries overnight and hustling them inside when the avian influenza did its rounds.

The mischievous little scamp was front and centre, Hermione noted, peppering the patient Ravenmaster with questions. ''Ave any of the ravens escaped?'

The Ravenmaster scratched his beard. 'Years ago, we had one chap who'd put in twenty-one years sterling service for Queen and country, then one day he absconded to the nearest pub and refused to return.

'Unfortunately,' he continued solemnly, 'we've had to dismiss some of our feathered regiment for 'conduct unbecoming Tower residents.' One was found guilty of attacking the television aerials of nearby residences. And two others,' he said menacingly, 'committed such atrocious acts they must never be spoken of.'

'Aww, but' – started the scamp.

' _Never_ be spoken of,' the Ravenmaster intoned.

Well, that sucked, sulked Draco. He _really_ wanted to know what they did. Surely it couldn't be worse than what they did to the head of Lady Jane Grey.

He eyed one of the ravens, perched nearby on an iron rail and having a sing-song. They're impressive-looking beasts, close up, he thought. Imagine conducting an _avis_ spell and having those behemoths fly out of your wand! He smiled evilly. He would _so_ love to see the Weasel cope with that. I wonder how he's doing in Romania? With any luck, he's working his way through the digestive system of a dragon about now.

'Draco.' Hermione tugged his sleeve. 'You're scaring the elderly.'

Ah. His evil grin had alarmed a couple of old biddies standing nearby, who were shifting away as fast as their arthritic legs could carry them.

'Right!' said the Ravenmaster cheerfully. 'It's time for the ravens to have a spot of lunch! They're in for a treat today – I've been supplied with a good quantity of nice, plump mice! Dead, of course, ladies.'

He held up the bucket and the nearby raven went bananas, bopping up and down on the rail and shrieking fit to beat the band. It out-shrieked the squawks of distaste that many of the women, including Hermione, uttered after they heard the word 'mice.'

Draco found himself being dragged away. 'But I wanted to see the ravens eat the mice!' he said petulantly. 'Do they swallow them whole or crunch them up?'

Hermione stopped and turned around, fixing him with a sceptical look. Then she smiled, and whispered in his ear 'How about I swallow your cock whole this afternoon?'

She patted his cheek in response to his stunned expression, and skipped off.

'Hey! Wait up!' he called out. There were too many people around for him to adjust his sudden but undeniable erection.

Oh hell, he grumped. It bloody hurts when walking around with a boner.

'HERMIONE!'

* * *

A peeved Draco – who had to imagine Professor McGonagall topless to put things back in order - caught up with an innocent-looking Hermione at the White Tower, one of the oldest buildings in the grounds. They were going to see where cousins Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard, two of Henry VIII's wives and queens, were imprisoned before they were executed at nearby Tower Green for being unfaithful to His Royal Roundness – allegedly, in Anne's case; definitely, in Catherine's.

Firstly, they had to traverse the daunting displays of weapons and armour, some of it going back centuries. Draco boggled at the meticulously decorated and gleaming suits of armour – not just for soldiers, but horses, too. According to the information, one of those clanky outfits could weigh up to fifty kilograms, excluding weapons. And as for the horses? Add another thirty kilograms to the total load the horse had to lug around in addition to the rider, not to mention getting frequently pelted with arrows or sliced up with swords. He glared at the mannequin of Henry VIII in full armour, atop his equally-armoured and long-suffering-looking horse. That's cruelty to animals, that is.

He looked up and saw Hermione's curly head disappear around a corner. He sighed and hustled to keep up.

* * *

They wandered through the floors of the ancient building, looking at the many and varied displays. Draco was interested to discover an alcove set into the thick stone walls, where a timber bench with a round hole cut in the centre lay across at about mid-thigh height. His interest turned to horror when he discovered it was an ancient form of toilet.

Hermione, courting an amused grin, said 'Indoor toilets were very posh back then. Not everyone had the luxury of sitting indoors on a plank of wood, where one's waste went through a hole in the wall and dropped into an open pit below.'

If he hadn't seen it, he wouldn't have believed it.

'There's not even a door!' he cried, pointing at the pointedly door-less entryway.

A tour guide, who happened to be passing by with a shoal of tourists swimming behind, laughed. 'They probably had something to shield the 'little room' for privacy back in the day,' he said. 'They were heavily used. They 'ad to build walls to shield the great big piles of sh' – he saw the mischievous little scamp practically nipping at his ankles, so he amended it to 'waste product from easily offended eyes. And noses.'

He peered at Draco, then turned to Hermione. 'You should probably get your man to some fresh air,' he advised. 'He looks a little peaky.'

He ushered his tourists off, ignoring the little scamp, who was asking 'Did any little kids fall through the hole, then?'

As Draco hung his head outside the White Tower's main entrance, he muttered 'How did Muggles get from crapping through a hole in a wall to mobile phone technology in only five hundred years?'

Smarting, Hermione crossed her arms, ready to defend Mugglekind. 'And how exactly did Wizards relieve themselves at the time?' she demanded in a soft voice. 'The toilets I've seen in the Wizarding world utilise distinctly Muggle technology, I'll have you know.'

He didn't know. But he resolved to find out. This was one argument he was planning to win. For a change.

* * *

They were walking along the tiny stone corridors with low curved ceilings when an intersection appeared. To the left was a set of shallow stairs that led to a small iron gate. A velvet rope stretched across the entranceway.

'Let's see what's up here!' Draco grabbed Hermione's hand and started up the stairs, ignoring the rope.

'But it's not on the official tour!' Hermione protested, nose in her guidebook.

Draco tried the gate. It opened silently. 'It's unlocked. That means we're allowed in. It's a universal law.'

She sighed, but she followed him through the gate and up the remainder of the stairs.

* * *

'Well.' The expression on Hermione's face was one Draco had come to know as 'Not Impressed.' 'This must be the highlight of the tour.'

Draco surveyed the rather dusty collection of boxes and bric-a-brac in the small room. 'There's an amazing view, though,' he said encouragingly, pointing to one of the narrow openings, set in a thick wall. She looked out, and he stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. 'And it's just us.'

She giggled. 'We're not having sex in the White Tower,' she said. 'As you pointed out so eloquently with the toilet, there's no door for privacy.'

He kissed the side of her neck. 'I never said sex, now, did I?' he murmured.

'I should think not, too!' an imperious voice behind them complained in French.

They both jumped and whirled around, and Hermione gasped.

Standing in front of them, looking distinctly unimpressed, was Anne, formerly Marquess of Pembroke and Queen of England - but better known to us riff-raff as Anne Boleyn.

* * *

Hermione half-fell into a curtsey, feeling stupid in her capri jeans, and Draco executed a full court bow (as taught by Narcissa, who no doubt expected that something like this would happen). 'Your Majesty,' Draco said in French as he cast a _Muffliato_ around the room.

The ghostly apparition raised a delicate eyebrow, attached to a head that she held under one arm. 'Ah,' she said, pleased. 'Such a joy to meet a wizard who is cognisant of court protocol.'

The former queen was dressed in the ensemble she was executed in - a dark grey damask gown - and her long black hair, pinned above her neck, was covered with a gable hood. This kept her neck conveniently bare for the, er, slicing mechanism, which, in her case, was a fancy sword attached to the arm of France's best executioner. Her sloe eyes were bright and full of intelligence. 'Your name, boy,' she demanded imperiously.

'Draco Lucius Malfoy, at your service, Majesty,' he said formally, bowing again.

The queen's head pondered. 'Malfoy… hmm. French, yes?'

Indeed, Ma'am.'

She brightened. 'I remember a Marquis de Malfoi from my time at the French court! His Christian name was Jean-Luc. An ancestor?'

'Yes, Ma'am, a notable and distinguished relative.'

Hermione stared at Draco. She couldn't understand anything he said, but damn if he didn't sound even more pompous than he did at school.

The queen smiled a cat-like smile. 'Yes. Jean-Luc. A man with many… qualities. He had strikingly blonde hair, as I recall. What on earth happened to you?'

Draco realised that he was still in his hideous anti-Troy disguise. With his wand, he transformed himself.

Her smile grew even more feline. 'Oh, yes,' she said languorously. 'Your resemblance to Jean-Luc is very clear indeed.'

Hiding his alarm, Draco drew his hand into Hermione's arm and brought her forward. In English, he said 'Ma'am, may I introduce Ms Hermione Granger, my'-

'Oh bother, doesn't the chit speak French?' the queen complained, in English for Hermione's convenience.

She sighed, vexed, and turned to Hermione. 'What sort of name is Granger?' she demanded. 'What do your people do?' She screwed up her nose. 'They weren't farm bailiffs, surely? Monsieur Malfoy, have you really needed to stoop so low to find a bride? What is this world coming to?'

Draco squeezed Hermione's arm before she could shoot off like a skyrocket. 'Today's times are different, Ma'am,' he said firmly. 'Hermione is the sole captor of my heart. She's a brilliant witch, not unlike your good self.'

Hermione gaped at Draco, then at the queen. 'Were you really a witch, Your Majesty?' she asked.

The queen rolled her eyes. 'Of course I was,' she said condescendingly. 'They even put me on trial for it, but the court seemed far more interested in the mountains of men I was apparently 'giving my favours' to. Back then, one had to keep one's witchcraft secret, lest one awoke to find oneself tied to a burning stake. I can tell you, young miss, it's far better to have your head cleaved from your body than to face an agonising death at the stake. You two don't know how lucky you are, being able to practice your craft in in the Muggle realm with the support of both governments.'

They had to admit she had a point.

'So,' the queen sniffed. 'Despite the obvious gap in social status, one can assume from your previous intimacy that you're anticipating your wedding vows, yes?'

Hermione opened her mouth, but Draco beat her to the punch. 'Indeed yes, Ma'am.'

'Hmph. That ring is rather fine, if I say so myself.' She glared at Hermione. 'May I see?' she demanded.

Hermione looked down at her hand, and squeaked when she saw that she still wore the emerald ring. How on earth did she even forget it was there? Did Mum notice?

Anyway, her arm jerked of its own accord and settled under the inquisitive nose of the head of the queen.

'Hmm…' she pondered. 'I must say, that's a lovely piece, Monsieur Malfoy. That emerald is most exquisite.' She fixed her sharp eyes on Hermione. 'you're a very lucky girl,' she thundered, obviously of the opinion that Hermione was not deserving of such wealthy devotion.

'Thank you, Your Majesty,' Hermione said faintly.

There was a bit of a pause while the queen strutted this way and that, sighing loudly at intervals.

'May we assist you in any way, Your Majesty?' Draco asked delicately.

She rounded on him. 'I'm bored!' she whined. 'I'm sick of haunting this bloody tower! I wasn't even incarcerated here' –

'What?' Hermione interrupted, forgetting herself and flicking through her guidebook. 'But this says' –

'Hang it all, girl, I should bloody well know where I was imprisoned!' the queen roared. 'They kept me in the same apartments I was given to prepare for my coronation, the bastards. Those buildings have long since disappeared.'

'Oh,' said Hermione, disappointed.

'Ha! And you know Tower Green, right?' the queen cackled.

Hermione assumed she was in for a hiding, but still ventured 'It was where Your Majesty was executed, forgive me for raising such an unpleasant subject' –

'Wrong!' the queen shrieked, her dander well and truly up. 'I was executed around the side of this tower! Honestly! I'm sick of history being written by men. Useless with details, the whole bally lot of them!'

Hermione's estimation of the cantankerous queen rose a notch.

'Perhaps some time away may energise you, Ma'am?' Draco suggested. 'One of our school ghosts, Nearly Headless Nick, used to say that a jaunt away from one's domicile could be quite refreshing.'

The queen stopped mid-stride, and slowly turned around. 'Nearly Headless Nick, you say?' she asked, diverted. 'Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, you mean?'

'The very same, Your Majesty.'

A dancing light shone in her eyes. 'I remember him haunting the Tower of London from time to time when I was alive! Such a handsome rogue, if a bit dodgy with his wand-work. You know, judging from portraits, I believe that silly Lady Grieve would have looked better with a tusk instead of those shockingly awful teeth. At least she would have been a point of conversation.' Her lips quirked. 'I always thought Sir Nicholas was rather saucy.'

'He spoke of you in the highest regard, Your Majesty,' Draco said smoothly. Well. Sir Nick once overheard a speculative conversation Draco and some friends were having about who they'd like to fuck, and he added that Anne Boleyn was a hot bit of totty.

'He did?' For a moment, the ghoulish queen looked positively girl-like. 'You say he resides at your school? Where is it?'

'In the mountains of Scotland, Your Majesty.'

'Scotland… Scotland…' the queen did a bit more thoughtful pacing. 'I've never haunted Balmoral Castle before. Poor thing, it must feel neglected. Do you know, I feel a visit to the north is rather overdue.'

Draco smiled. 'Scotland will be all the richer for your presence, Ma'am.'

She beamed. 'Oh, you are kind,' she simpered. Then she turned her beady stare on Hermione. 'An excellent man stands next to you, young lady. Pray you don't forget.'

'I won't, Your Majesty.' Hermione bobbed a curtsey.

'Right!' said the queen, cinching her head between her elbow and hip and clapping her hands twice. 'There's not a moment to lose! Betty! Betty!' She sighed. 'Honestly. It's impossible to keep a hold of servants nowadays. BETTY! You'd better not be raising your skirts with that shifty footman again!'

And so, one of English history's most famous and unfortunate queens sailed out of the room, shrieking for her maid like a fishwife.

Hermione and Draco stared in the direction she'd gone, before shaking their heads clear.

'I need a drink,' Hermione said faintly.

'Yeah,' Draco agreed.

* * *

Convenience dictated that the lovely pair repair to their hotel, where drinks were plentiful and available for the partaking of in private.

Hermione examined her ring while Draco, black-haired again, took receipt of their room service order of booze and luncheon. She wiggled it.

'Draco!' she said, sounding panicked.

'What?' he said, whipping around from opening a chardonnay.

'The ring won't come off!'

'What?' Alarmed, he put the bottle down and scooted over. 'That shouldn't happen.'

Just as he reached a hand out, she deftly pulled the ring off her finger and held it up, triumphant. 'Ta-da!'

Draco rewarded her with a cynical laugh. 'You know they're designed to never leave the wife's finger once they're married.'

'Oh, yeah?' she asked. 'And is the man similarly shackled?'

'Of course,' he replied. 'Marriage is forever.'

He said it so matter-of-factly that her tummy fizzed. She leaned over and kissed him. 'You're such a romantic, darling.'

He smiled. 'Tell anyone else and I'll have to kill you.'

* * *

 **Later…**

They slowly removed each other's clothes in the bedroom. Draco, the wily seducer, had managed to get Hermione nude, while he was still in his jeans.

He stepped away from her and sprawled elegantly in a nearby chair. Hermione headed towards him but he stopped her with a hand.

'Get on the bed,' he said in a low voice.

Slowly, she did so, reclining against the opulent pillows, eyes wide.

'For years I've fantasied about you, love,' Draco said, his silver eyes on her. 'I'd like to tell you about one.'

Her heart sped up. 'Okay.'

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. 'My favourite one is in the Prefect's Bathroom,' he started. 'I come in to find you already there, with half your body submerged in the steaming water. You're leaning over the edge, studying, no doubt having water-proofed your book to prevent water damage.'

'You know me well,' Hermione whispered on a smile.

'Your wet hair streams down your naked back, and only the undersides of your perfect breasts are visible, hidden behind your arms. You're so entranced in your reading that you have no idea anyone else is in the bathroom until I step into the bath on the opposite side.

'You whirl around, covering your fright adequately enough with anger. 'Get the fuck out, Malf' – you start, but the sentence dies on your lips as you take in my body. You've not seen a boy's - or man's - naked form before, in living flesh. Your stare skitters around and over me, taking in my shoulders, chest, arms, legs. Anywhere except my erection. Which is for you. And you only.

'I smirk, palm my hard cock and casually stroke it. 'See something you like, Granger?' I sneer.

'Your bottom lip wobbles, but there's fire in your voice when you snap 'No, I can't 'see' anything at all.'

'In less than a second, I dive into the water. You cast about in agitation, trying to see where I went, but the water is still. Suddenly, I rear out of the water in front of you, close enough to kiss you. Your back is against the side of the bath – there's nowhere for you to go.

'I lean down, my lips only millimetres from yours. 'Given your terrible track record with Divination,' I smirk, 'I won't expect you to believe what I'm going to say next. But before this hour ends, I'll have you begging for my cock and screaming out my name.'

'You're so angry you can't speak, but your cheeks blush in a way that's not to do with the heat of the water.

'I close my lips over yours, my first taste of you. You're intoxicating, love. Your eyes flutter shut, and your lips mould to mine.

'This close to you, I'm finding it hard to keep my desire under control. I want to be rough. I want us to fuck like we fight, no quarter given. I want to fling your wet body to the floor and impale you, make you scream. I want you to fight me, try and buck my body off yours, even while you pull me closer. I want you to rake your fingernails down my arms, draw blood, branding me as yours.'

On the bed, a shuddering breath left Hermione's body. Her eyes were as wide as saucers.

'But even in my fantasies, I know that's not credible,' Draco said, shifting in the chair. 'I pull away with regret, and move to one side. You return to the edge of the bath, your lips red and plump from my kiss.'

Draco's low voice was hypnotic and sinful, and his words melted on her body. Hermione-on-the-bed's legs opened. He saw; and took a breath in. He was hard; Hermione could see his erection outlined against his jeans. But he kept his hands away.

'Trust me,' I tell you,' Draco continued. You nod, eventually.

'Sit on the second-to-top step of the bath,' I order. 'I want to see your beautiful breasts'.

'You swallow hard, but I have to hand it to you Gryffindors – you're not cowards. Shakily, you pull yourself up, and water cascades over your beautiful features. I'm actually jealous of the water for its intimate touch.

'Touch your breasts for me,' I instruct. 'Show them to me.'

'You blush quite delightfully, but you eventually raise your hands and palm each perfect globe, jiggling them. They're full, ripe and plump, and my own hands itch to feel their weight. I pull myself clear of the water. You can plainly see how you affect me.'

Draco's eyes moved to the girl on the bed. 'Show them to me,' he said in a low voice.

Hermione's hands crept to her breasts, and she closed her eyes.

'No.' His command made her jump. 'Eyes to me.'

Watching him, she palmed her breasts the way his fantasy Hermione did, then she rolled them, demonstrating their fullness and softness.

He wet his lips with his tongue, transfixed.

She traced each index finger around her hard, sensitive nipples. A small cry broke from her throat when she flicked them. Draco's hand moved of its own accord to his crotch, but he forced it back to the armrest, his eyes not missing a second of her movements.

'Are you turned on, Draco?' Hermione whispered.

He smiled. 'Practically all the time, around you.'

'I bet I'm wet,' she continued, not dropping her gaze. 'Do you want to see if I am?'

He swallowed, but shook his head. 'Not yet, princess. I'm not done yet.'

She shuddered. There was no doubt about her arousal now. Her clit was tingling. She ached to touch it, but she knew she could only do so at his command.

Why, the logical side of her brain commanded, do you get turned on by a bloke acting like a misogynistic pig?

Because I'm driving him as crazy as he drives me, she realised.

'What happens next in your fantasy?' she whispered.

Draco briefly closed his eyes, then opened them again. 'You pinch your nipples with your fingers, quite hard, from what I can see. You bite your lip to keep from moaning out loud. You don't want me to see how much I've turned you on.

'I stroke my cock lazily, up and down, while watching you. 'You make me harder than I can ever remember being,' I tell you. 'Not just your beautiful breasts and delicious-looking nipples, but the look on your face. You want to cry out, don't you?'

'No,' you grit, obstinate girl.

'I want to taste your breasts,' I tell you in a low voice. 'I want to see for myself how exquisite they are.'

'You say nothing, so I slowly swim over. I come up between your legs, careful not to touch you. 'May I?' I ask on a kiss.

'You nod, and I grasp your gorgeous flesh in my hands and lower my mouth. Fuck. Your taste is unique. One swipe of my tongue, one mouthful of your creamy breast, and I almost come spontaneously, can you believe? Your head falls back and you moan, pushing your body into mine, demanding more and more from me. Of me.'

'Draco…' Hermione-on-the-bed moaned, her thighs rippling with the effort not to agitate her sex. 'Damn you…'

He looked hungrily at her. His erection was immense and painful against his jeans, but he wouldn't give in. He was going to make her come first, from his words. Then after that, he'll fuck her into the mattress, swallowing each and every one of her ecstatic screams into his mouth.

He took a breath in, and released it.

'In the bath, your body is shaking, not from the cold, but from desire. I pull you up another step and gently spread your legs open to me. I forget that my mother raised me to be a gentleman, and don't even ask. I just lower my face to your beautiful sex and feast on everything I find. The hard little treasure of your clitoris. The beautiful, plump folds of your labia. I lathe the exterior of your cunt with my tongue. Your legs are rippling, like they are right now, love, and your head is thrown back in abandon. Your wet curls tumble down while you cry out, begging me to stop – you can't take it. But I know you can.'

'I have to touch myself, please…' moaned Hermione-on-the-bed, her eyes desperate and her chest flushed.

He leaned forward. Dear fucking gods, he could smell her arousal. His mouth watered. 'Are you close, love?' he whispered.

'Y-yes,' she confessed wretchedly.

He shook his head regretfully. 'I'm sorry, sweetheart, but you need to hold on.'

A sob broke from her throat, and she blinked frustrated tears away.

'Back in the bath, I spear my tongue into your soaking wet channel, and my eyes roll into the back of my head at your taste and how good you feel. I almost physically restrain myself from rearing out of the water and surging my steel-hard cock into you, hard and relentless, over and over.'

'Oh God, oh God…' Hermione-on-the-bed whispered, her fingers digging in to her thighs.

'Quickly I slide one finger, then two, inside you. You're so tight I almost want to get on my knees and thank Merlin for you. I stand up. My voice is unsteady, but I don't care. 'I want to be inside you, Granger,' I whisper. 'Will you let me?'

'Yes!' you say fiercely. 'Make me scream.'

'I kiss you, and you respond with fire. I lay you on a pile of towels alongside the bath, and kneel over your wet body. I part your legs, kissing your thighs, barely believing what I'm about to do. Hermione Granger, beautiful, tempestuous, unattainable Gryffindor virgin, will never be the same again. Because of me.

'I kiss you, once, twice – then I enter you, fill you, in one slick, tight movement.'

'Oh, my God!' sobbed both Hermiones, their bodies writhing, wanting more.

'I want to go slow,' Draco said, his voice now clenched around his jaw, 'but you want to fuck. To come. To scream everything out. I speed up and fuck you, watching expression after expression trace over your face. Your eyes are glassy; I don't even know if you can see me. But I feel your beautiful body react, your orgasm build. Your body's almost levitating off the towels. No-one's ever reacted to me the way you do, love. No-one.'

Tears streaked down Hermione-on-the-bed's face, and he felt his need nearly claw through and overtake him. Her eyes were screwed shut now; her entire body was trembling.

He stood up, quietly freeing his cock from his jeans and headed to the bed.

'I can't hold back any longer,' both Dracos whispered.

As the couple in the fantasy came inside and into each other with a ferocious need, Draco knelt over Hermione-on-the-bed. 'I love you,' he whispered.

Her eyes fluttered open.

He surged inside her, almost howling at her tight, wet heat. She'd never been this wet before. It tore his breath from his body.

Hermione convulsed under him, her arms and legs clinging to his body, never wanting to let go.

He got as far as six strokes before he came, harder than he could remember.

* * *

 **Even later…**

Draco and Hermione decided they'd better head back to the Grangers early for tea, to make up for their disappearance the night before. After a time spent on the ruffled bed, tangled quietly in each other's limbs, they showered (together, to save time and to access those hard-to-reach places, of course) and took the bus to the Granger residence, feeling very loved-up and peaceful.

Once inside the lobby of the house, Draco closed the door with relief and re-blonded himself while Hermione skipped down the hallway to the kitchen. 'Hi Mum!' she called. 'We're back early' –

Then she shrieked.

Heart in his mouth, Draco dashed down the hallway and burst into the kitchen.

Jean sat the kitchen table, holding a plate of biscuits that she was about to pass to her two guests. One was a middle-aged portly gent in jeans and a crumpled linen shirt with two cell phones on the table in front of him. The other was a gorgeous young man with blonde hair and stunning eyes, looking sexily casual in three-quarter cargo pants and a weathered George Harrison t-shirt. Both rose when Hermione entered the kitchen, and they turned politely to Draco when he barrelled in shortly after.

Their mouths fell to the floor.

'Bloody Nora,' muttered the middle-aged gent, agog.

The young man recovered faster. 'I can't believe it's actually true!' he laughed. He held out his hand to Draco. 'I'm Troy Fendalton. Pleasure to meet you.'

* * *

 **A/N: Ah. I seem to have ended on another cliff-hanger. Oopsie.**

 **What better than a bout of sex after a history lesson, right? BTW: any errors relating to the Tower of London and/or the history references are mine. All mine!**

 **Hope no-one had forgotten about the inevitable meet-up between Draco and Troy…**

 **Guess I should mosey off and start Stopover 2 chapter 10, yeah?**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Just a short chapter to end Draco and Hermione's London stay. But chapter 9 had a doozy of a cliff-hanger, so...**

* * *

Hermione boggled at the two blonde men facing each other. They could have been identical twins. She fought off a ridiculous urge to not let her eyes off Draco for a second, lest she become confused and snog – or more – the wrong bloke.

'Uh, Mr Fendalton,' she solemnly started.

He gave her a smile that turned her knees to water, to Draco's instant irritation. 'Call me Troy.'

'Oh. Thank you.' She tried again. 'We're very sorry about the photo that appeared in the newspaper. I hope it didn't cause you too much inconvenience.'

Troy exchanged looks with the other man, who introduced himself as Will, Troy's manager, and sat back down at the table. He snaffled a biscuit while Hermione and Draco sat opposite him.

'They say all publicity is good publicity,' said Will, stopping one of his phones from vibrating around the table on silent, 'so in a way, it was good. Then again, in a way it was' – he looked at Troy and sighed. 'We disagree on whether it was partly bad or all good.'

'Sage and I had been having some problems,' Troy murmured. 'Your photo was, for her, the last straw. She called me a cheating bastard and put our house on the market.'

Jean tutted in sympathy. Hermione groaned and dropped her head to the table.

'It's okay,' Troy assured her. 'The photo was the impetus we both needed to accept the inevitable and call it a day. That's why I think the photo is good news.'

'Unfortunately, Troy's been publicly branded as a cheating wanker,' Will said darkly. 'That's why I think the photo is not good news. Movie studios prefer to hire actors that keep their noses clean.'

Troy snorted. 'It's not like I'm mainlining heroin and stalking pre-teen girls. Which is more than one of your other clients could say.'

'Yeah, yeah, don't remind me,' Will said gloomily.

'Is there anything we could do to help dispel the cheating wanker myth?' Hermione asked.

'Well, now that you mention it' - Will started hopefully.

Troy raised a hand. 'You're under no obligation to do it. From me, anyway.'

'Do what?' Draco asked suspiciously.

'We were thinking of a photo of you and Troy,' Will said. He raised his hands up, as if framing a headline. ''Troy Fendalton Discovers Doppelgänger' or something like that. Then we'll have Draco explain the other photo was a case of mistaken identity and Bob's your uncle, mate.'

Draco followed everything except for the bit about someone's uncle. Anyway, he knew better than to make decisions like this without consulting his wise counsel, so he said 'Hermione and I need to have a quick talk,' and stood up from the table. Hermione followed, and they traipsed out into the garden.

'We did stuff him around, and the picture might make amends,' she said thoughtfully.

'Is this going to affect me negatively in some way?' Draco got straight to the important bit.

'Not if you keep disguising yourself when we head out in Muggle areas.'

He scowled mightily and kicked the swing.

'One issue could be your name,' Hermione added, frowning at his itty bitty pity party.

'You want me to change my name, too?' he snapped. 'Bloody hell, woman.'

'No, of course, not,' she replied soothingly. 'It's just there are people who are good at tracking other people down from the barest amount of information. I'm just wondering what will happen if someone tries to look you up after reading the article, and to their surprise and suspicion, not a single trace of you can be found.'

'So I can't use a fake name for the same reason,' Draco mused.

'No. I think it might be best if you ask to be kept anonymous and tell them you're not interested in the publicity.'

Draco sighed. 'Okay,' he said, with a lingering pinch of grudge.

With that, Hermione headed back to the house.

'I'll be there in a minute,' called Draco, and pulled out his phone.

* * *

Once agreement was obtained, Will wanted to book in one of the more tolerable entertainment journalists and a professional photographer, but Hermione, Draco and Troy put their feet down. Will would have to fulfill both roles instead.

Jean silently thanked the Lord that this actor and his manager didn't turn up unannounced to the house yesterday, when it was practically awash with bird poo.

Hermione hid a smile at the results of Draco's lightning-fast introduction to fame and – well, he already had a fortune. In spades, by the sound of it. Will and Troy were very patient, placing Draco's body just so, angling his face just so, adjusting his hair - which _no-one_ (except Hermione, if she was fast, or they were in the middle of sex) touches except himself – just so.

But she imagined he'd draw the line at having his tackle re-arranged if Troy wore his on the opposite side, so to speak.

In return, Draco was very nearly mostly patient with Will's interminable posing positions and endless fluffy questions.

The doorbell frantically ran, and Hermione, who was keeping out of the trajectory of Will's camera (despite his best efforts to include her), hustled down the hall to answer the door.

It was Daisy, clutching the handlebars of a bicycle and gasping for breath.

'Oh' – puff – 'hey' – pant – 'Hermione!' Daisy stuttered between taking in great lungfuls of air. 'Draco said it was' – puff – 'urgent, so I dashed' – pant – 'over right away.'

Hermione was a tad surprised to see the rather dishevelled Daisy expiring on her parent's doorstep. Draco never mentioned anything to her about requiring Daisy's immediate presence. 'Go right through,' she smiled. 'He's in the living room. I'll take your bike.'

'Thanks!' Daisy soared past her, down the hall and into the living room.

Hermione trundled off to the garage with the bike.

'Hey Draco!' Daisy sang out as she flounced in. 'Where's the fire – oh!'

She pulled up uncertainly when Will turned around at the sound of her voice. 'Sorry, I didn't know you had company,' she blushed.

Troy - on the settee - opened his mouth, but was saved from social awkwardness by Draco himself, who wandered into the room from the kitchen.

Daisy glanced distractedly at the new arrival – and froze.

'Ah! Daisy, you're here!' he said cheerfully. 'You said you were a fan of Troy Fendalton, right? I figured that since he was here, you might want to meet – huh.' He squinted at her. 'You all right?'

Daisy's mouth opened and closed repeatedly on auto-pilot. Draco just made out the words 'Omigod omigod omigod omigod omigod omigod omigod omigod' etc and so forth. Her eyes were the size of dinner plates, and they danced between the two young men at the speed of the light.

Troy, ever the gentleman, stood up from the settee. 'Hi! Daisy, is it?' he smiled, striding over. 'Nice to meet you.'

But it was all too much for the awe-struck, star-struck girl. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, her face turned chalky white, and it was Goodnight Nurse for Miss Dorchester.

Such a pity she wasn't awake to see herself fall into Troy's surprised arms in a dead faint.

* * *

Will was despatched to locate Hermione.

Meanwhile, Draco peered at Daisy, now laid out on the settee, with a worried Troy holding her hand. Draco raised an eyebrow at Troy. 'Do you get this type of reaction often?' he asked politely.

'No, can't say it's common,' Troy murmured.

Hermione stormed into the living room. 'Honestly,' she snapped. 'I leave you two alone for a one minute, and look what you've done!'

Ashamed, Troy opened his mouth to execute an apology, but Draco stopped him with a hand on his arm and a quick shake of his head. Hermione was in the 'Letting off Steam' stage of her temper, and he knew very well that it was pointless to try and hustle the process along by apologising before the requirement fell due.

She knelt by Daisy's prone body and checked her breathing and pulse. 'Did she hit her head when she fell?'

'N – no,' stammered Troy.

'Good.' She raised Daisy's legs on some cushions and watched her face for signs of colour returning. Then she looked up at Draco and glared lasers at him. 'I hope you're satisfied,' she growled.

Draco looked mystified. 'Why on earth would I be?'

She fixed him with a look. 'Are you saying you didn't urgently message Daisy to come around so you could pull a twin prank on her?'

'No!' he retorted, affronted. 'I remembered her saying how fond she was of Troy, so I messaged her to come around ASAP because I didn't know how much longer he'd be staying.'

Hermione looked at Daisy and scratched her head. 'So, Daisy's out cold because you thought you would doing something nice for her?'

Draco thought about it. 'I know it looks bad,' he conceded, 'but - yes.'

She took Draco's hand and pulled him down to kneel next to her. Her eyes were soft. 'You're a daft fool,' she smiled.

Draco normally would have been a little offended to be called both daft and a fool, but her soft kiss on his lips took the unintended sting of her words away.

Troy turned tactfully away from the couple, feeling a bit bereft. Things with Sage had to end, there was no doubt. But he couldn't help feel a little lonely in the company of two (slightly odd) people in love.

Especially when one of them looked exactly like him, damn it.

* * *

Daisy came around and was re-introduced to Troy, who was the perfect attendant gentleman. Will, seeing a new angle for his article, didn't need to negotiate too hard to convince Daisy to pose for a few photos with two drop-dead gorgeous young men. She just needed to raid Hermione's wardrobe and make-up stash first.

A short while later, Daisy had the afternoon of her young life, living the ultimate teenage dream - posing with Draco, then Troy, then Draco and Troy, and answering Will's inane questions, such as 'How did you feel when you met your idol Troy Fendalton?' etc etc.

At last, even Will was satisfied that he had enough shots and copy to wrangle the public with. He hoped that no-one noticed the surreptitious shot he took of Draco and Hermione kissing earlier. Rather ironic, when you think about it.

Finally, much to Daisy's woe, it was time for Troy (and Will) to depart. Troy raised the bar for celebrity kindness to fans, recording all sorts of photos, video clips and messages on Daisy's phone so that she could smugly show them off to friends at school who weren't particularly nice friends, anyway. He declined to give her his phone number, though.

But he took hers.

He did give his number to Draco , who also exchanged his. 'Don't worry,' Troy grinned, 'I won't be offering you work as a body double'-

'It was just a thought!' protested Will.

'But if we're in the same area one day, maybe we could grab a beer?'

Draco smiled. 'Yeah, that would be good.'

They shook hands in the time-honored tradition of Muggle men, i.e. half hug/half handshake, which Draco had to rather quickly master, seeing as it wasn't a common method of greeting in the Wizarding world.

Troy kissed Hermione in the English style, i.e. on one cheek. She heard a faint growling sound nearby, but kept her grin to herself. Silly, possessive, lovable man.

Troy did the same with Daisy, to her utter delight. In fact, he did it twice, since she insisted that someone take a photo of the most romantic moment of her life EVER.

(Now, as well as a hand, Daisy had a cheek she never wanted to wash again).

* * *

The rest of Draco and Hermione's London holiday passed happily, with sight-seeing jaunts in the mornings and outrageous bouts of sex in the afternoons, making sure to always be back at the Grangers in time for tea.

And then, the time came for our couple to pack for departure to The Burrow.

Crookshanks was most upset to witness Draco's imminent departure, making his unhappiness known with constant mournful meows, saucer-wide 'How Could You Do This To Me?'eyes and multiple forays into Draco's trunk to stow away. Hermione received a cursory nose bump and a handful of loose fur.

The results of their London holiday stock take were as follows:

Number of lectures on safe Muggle sex attended: zero.

Number of times they had sex: too many to count, although Hermione felt a little guilty at times about deceiving her parents. Until Draco kissed her and made her forget again.

Number of hats acquired: one.

Numbers of rings acquired: one.

Number of rings handed back to the Malfoy representative: zero.

(After a rather peppery conversation): number of rings Hermione was holding on to, 'just in case': one, but she told Draco she wasn't wearing it at The Burrow. For the sake of his own health.

Number of stories exchanged about what various members of the Rochester family subjected to either Draco or Hermione's person: zero.

Number of nightmares: just the one, and believe me, it was enough.

Number of times Draco made Hermione cry: one. And he's still cut up about it.

Number of times Draco irritated Hermione: plenty. But none of them matter.

Number of occasions they caught each other's glance and communicated, without words, their love: endless times.

* * *

 **A/N: Farewell, London! We'll miss you. But now we're Weasley-bound! Chapter 11 is in progress!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Another short-ish chapter for you! How will Draco be received at The Burrow?**

 **I honest can't believe the number of reviews I've received for this story! Thank you so much. I'm glad everyone's enjoying it.**

 **To the guest reviewer who left personally offensive comments on this story: don't presume you know me, honey. But thanks for the laughs!**

* * *

 **At The Leaky Cauldron's Floo**

Draco was staunch and confident. He was a staunch and confident bloke. Ask anyone. But he had to reluctantly admit to a few knocky knees at the thought of Flooing into a giant nest of Weasleys.

Hermione was just about to grab a handful of Floo powder when Draco said 'I think I left something at your parents' house. Won't be a tick.'

She leapt out of the Floo and snagged his arm before he escaped. He braced himself for an eye-rolling lecture on manning up and getting the hell on with it, but she surprised him. As she often did.

She looked at him, dressed in fading, increasingly ripped jeans and a grey t-shirt that said 'You Read my T-Shirt. That's Enough Social Interaction for One Day.' He looked so hot he should be outlawed.

'I think you're really brave, you know,' she said softly. 'I also know how capable you are of holding your own. Even if things do turn pear-shaped, I know you'll cope.'

He took her hand and kissed it. 'I'm worried that I'll disappoint you,' he murmured.

That was possible. 'We'll play it by ear,' she said. "I promise to listen to any alleged transgressions with an open mind.'

He hugged her. 'What about you?' he asked, looking into her eyes.

'Ginny?' She shrugged lightly. 'I'm sure it will be fine.' She put on her determined face. 'It will be fine. For sure.'

He sighed. 'I'm sorr'-

'No.' She suddenly rounded on him. 'Don't say sorry. Don't be sorry. I've talked it out with you and Ginny. The best thing to do is to put it behind us. I want my best friend back, and I want to be with you. Consider me selfish. Okay?'

He nodded smartly. 'Yes. Definitely.'

She sighed. 'Now I feel nervous.'

'Can I say sorry for that?'

She smiled. 'Yes. In the best way you can.'

He brightened. 'I look forward to showing you,' he whispered before nibbling her earlobe.

She giggled, then sobered, swiftly looking around to see if anyone had witnessed their PDA. She looked into his grey eyes. 'Promise me you'll Floo after me.'

He showed her his most sincere face. 'I will.'

They kissed, and Hermione stepped back into the Floo. Checking she had her shrunk trunk with her, she called out 'The Burrow!'

PUFF!

In a blast of green flames, she disappeared.

Draco sighed. He didn't suppose she'd be impressed if he Flooed, say, a day, a month or year later. Even if she didn't specify a timeframe.

She should know by now that she has to do that with him.

He grabbed some powder and slouched into the Floo.

* * *

Hermione stepped out of The Burrow's Floo, a little disoriented. Surprisingly, the bright and cheerful kitchen was empty, although there was plenty of evidence pointing to a vast meal being prepared. Not wanting to abandon the Floo when Draco was due to appear at any moment, she called out 'Hello? Anyone home?'

"Oh, here you are at last!' called an emotional voice from the kitchen's back door. She whirled around and found her nose crushed against the ample bosom of Molly Weasley. Hermione wrapped her arms around her second mother and happily breathed in the comforting scent of baked bread, freshly-ironed linen and mint. She felt tears prick in her eyes.

I really should try to cry less, she thought.

'Thank you so much for inviting us,' she murmured.

Molly looked as teary as Hermione did. 'Such an awful way to end the final school year for everyone.'

Hermione thought of Ron, serving his exile in Romania. Looking at Molly, she could see the strain of her youngest's son's absence from home. That, and the actions that led to it.

'We'll make up for it now,' she assured Molly, hugging her impulsively again. She took a breath. 'Where's Ginny?'

'Oh, she'll be disappointed she didn't meet you at the Floo. She's been running in and out of the kitchen all morning, hoping to catch you.' Molly paused on her way to the stove, biting her lip. 'She can't wait to see you,' she said earnestly.

Hermione opened her mouth, but the Floo burst into life behind her. Draco stepped out, brushing the soot off his clothes with a resigned look on his face.

Stove forgotten, Molly rushed towards him at speed, arms wide. 'Oh, Draco, I'm so glad you could come! You'll have a marvelous time here. I know you will!'

Draco's response was lost in the fullness of Molly's décolletage. Hermione hid a smile.

Once free of Molly's impressive flesh, Draco shook his head to clear it and filled his lungs with air. 'Thank you for inviting me, Mrs Weasley,' he said formally, kissing her hand.

She blushed like a little girl. 'Call me Molly, dear, everyone else does!' she simpered. 'Except for my kids, of course. Now. Do you have' –

'Hermione!' a voice shrieked. The back kitchen door was flung open and a red-haired whirling dervish tornadoed into the room, sucking Hermione into its vortex.

Two arms appeared and wrapped themselves tightly around Hermione's neck, and she found herself surrounded by an immense curtain of long red hair.

Then the owner of the hair burst into tears.

Draco boggled at the sight, while Molly dabbed at her eyes with a corner of her apron.

'Ginny,' Hermione pleaded, freeing a hand from the hug and parting Ginny's hair so she could see. 'Please stop crying, honey.'

Ginny stepped back and wiped her eyes. 'I'm just so glad you decided to come!' She gave Hermione a watery smile that almost broke her heart.

'Come here,' Hermione grinned, opening her arms.

The two girls embraced tightly, in their own world.

Draco was starting to feel rather superfluous when they finally parted, giggling, then Ginny noticed him standing by the Floo. Her eyes grew wide, and her pale skin turned even paler. Biting her lip, she glanced back at Hermione, who was, in turn, watching Draco.

Draco's eyes were always on Hermione.

Hermione whispered to Ginny on a smile, took her hand and squeezed it.

Blushing, Ginny walked primly to Draco, her eyes on her shoes. Once his shoes entered her field of vision, she looked up – and up (Merlin, he's tall!) and met his silvery-grey eyes.

'Hey, Red,' he drawled. 'I'm interested to see whether Durmstrang could cram any new information into that tiny head of yours.'

Standing on her tippy toes, Ginny threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, laughing. 'I missed your mouthy bullshit,' she said fondly.

Draco's arms closed around her. 'I'm glad you're okay,' he murmured.

She stepped back perkily. 'I'm better than okay!' she boasted. 'Look at what the exercise regime at Durmstrang did for me!' She pulled up her t-shirt to reveal a pale tummy that now boasted a six-pack.

'Ginevra!' Molly snapped from the sink. 'Stop flaunting your belly button everywhere!'

Ignoring her, Ginny reached out and grabbed Hermione's hand. 'Let's go find the others,' she suggested. 'Lunch will be ready soon, so they won't be too far away. Come on, Malfoy!'

* * *

The two girls, with Draco towering over them from behind, headed to the living room, immediately spotting Arthur, Fred and George with their heads together in a quiet but heated argument.

'I don't care!' hissed Arthur. 'As the head of the family, I'm putting my foot down. It's my bloody right.'

'Aww, Dad,' whined Fred, before being shushed by George.

'Dad's right, you know,' said George somberly. 'It's his say.'

Fred saw the trio enter the room and nodded at the other Weasley men. They straightened up.

'Hermione!' Arthur cried warmly, opening his arms. Hermione stepped inside them for a most welcome hug and kiss on the cheek. 'It's so lovely to see you at The Burrow again.'

'I'm glad to be back, Arthur,' Hermione shrieked while being half-strangled by Fred's hug and picked up bodily by George. Once back on the ground, Hermione held her arm out to Draco and said, a tad nervously, 'You might remember Draco Malfoy from school. He's my' –

She trailed off when she noticed the men glaring silently at him.

He swallowed a gulp and stepped forward. 'Mr Weasley,' he said, nodding deferentially at Arthur. 'Fred. George.'

In the blink of an eye, Arthur drew back his fist and slugged Draco in the jaw so hard he was propelled across the room and onto the settee.

'Dad!' yelled Ginny, horrified. 'What the hell did you do that for?'

Arthur shook out his hand, defiant. 'It's not because of Ron,' he said, wincing a little. 'He made his own choices. But this young man' – he pointed at Draco, who was having his jaw inspected by a shell-shocked Hermione – 'took liberties with you, young lady! And caused this family a lot of upset as a result.'

Ginny's temper ignited. 'Why can't anyone in this bloody family understand that I'm capable of making my own decisions!' she roared. 'I wasn't exactly unwilling, you know.'

Arthur clamped his hands over his ears. 'La la la la la la la la la…' he sang loudly, striding around the room.

Over Arthur's caterwauls, Fred explained 'You're a Pureblood, Gin. I know we don't go in for that sort of crap much, but when it comes to marriage, there's a lot of custom to be followed. A Pureblood girl with a bad reputation might find it difficult to get married. I know you don't care,' he continued before Ginny could unleash more invective, 'but Mum would be heartbroken.'

Ginny stamped her foot and opened her mouth for a cutting rebuttal when a quiet voice interjected.

'They're right, Red,' said Draco, gingerly wiggling his jaw from side to side. 'Fred – assuming it is Fred – is right about Pureblood marriage customs. And your Dad's right for punching me. I made a stupid decision in the heat of the moment and almost ruined your long-term chances of happiness. I'd do the same if I had a daughter.'

George pitched in. 'But now Malfoy's taken his punch, we're all satisfied. Although,' he confided, 'Fred and I wanted all of us to punch him, but Dad said he thought just one was enough. Now we can get on with having a nice holiday!' He strode over to Draco and held out his hand. 'Malfoy. Welcome to the Burrow.'

Smiling wryly, Draco accepted it and pulled himself off the settee.

Ginny and Hermione stared at them, speechless.

Molly bustled in. 'What's all the yelling about now?' she demanded. 'I told you if you gave young Draco trouble, I'd show you what trouble is.'

'Not to worry, dear, it's all under control!' Arthur said genially. 'Now, what is that delicious smell?'

'It's lunch, that's what it is! Come along, all of you, before it gets cold!' Molly ordered. 'Ginny dear, can you find Harry and let him know it's lunchtime?'

With pink cheeks, Ginny skipped off.

* * *

It was certainly a meal Draco would never forget. He'd never seen such savagery at a kitchen table before. Arthur and the twins didn't even bother waiting for Harry and Ginny to arrive. They fell on the plentiful platters and bowls like starving beasts, spooning mountains of food onto their plates.

Hermione noticed Draco's rather glassy stare. 'You have to fend for yourself at mealtimes,' she whispered apologetically, 'or you go without. Remember Ron at the Gryffindor table?'

Draco shuddered. He was surprised the Weasel's table manners didn't give him nightmares.

Hermione wrestled a platter of roast chicken off Arthur and put some on her plate. 'Here you go,' she smiled, passing it to Draco. 'Do you want me to forage for you?'

Normally Draco would have been highly offended at this implied slight to his basic abilities, but he needed more time to study the Weasley's natural habitat. 'Yes, dear.'

Molly was standing behind the twins, berating them for hogging the food and forgetting their company manners when Ginny and Harry strode in. Ginny looked a little breathless and windswept, and Harry's hair may have been a little more disheveled than normal, but it was hard to tell. Ginny scooted into her seat, ignoring her mother's thoughtful look, while Harry and Hermione embraced each other happily.

'It's so good to see you!' Harry marveled. 'You look… radiant.'

Hermione blushed. 'We've had a good holiday,' she said.

Draco stood up from the table, looking warily at Harry. 'Do you need to punch me for anything?' he asked.

'Nah,' Harry replied. 'We're good.' They shook hands, and took their seats.

'How about some Quidditch after lunch?' George said to the table at large, while nicking the last slice of bread and butter from Fred's plate.

This was met with abundant enthusiasm.

'We've uneven numbers, though,' noted Fred. 'Dad, you're needed.'

'Certainly, son,' Arthur replied to a round of cheers, silently ruing the death of his former plans for the afternoon, which involved a settee, a newspaper and a beer.


	12. Chapter 12

**INTERMISSION**

Hi readers,

After eleven chapters each of Treacherous Affairs 2 (TA2) and Stopover 2, I have to finally concede that writing two stories at the same time wasn't the best idea I've ever had. The two different headspaces I have to be in to write the stories were making me cross-eyed.

Stopover 2 is nearing completion, so I've decided to concentrate on that story exclusively until I finish it. Once it's off my desk, I will triumphantly return to TA2, which hasn't even got an estimated finish date - there's so much I have to write yet!

Now, I didn't want you thinking I'd abandoned TA2 if you didn't get an update as expected, so hopefully this wee message will soothe, rather than crankify, your souls. Aside from the fact that you'll have to wait a few weeks for the next update; which, of course, is totally crankifying.

Please accept my heartfelt apologies, but rest assured - the Guilt is Strong with this One.

Yours,

NeverNik

10/29/2017


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Hello everyone! TA2 is back with a new chapter! I'm so glad I could give you a wee little pressie before I go on holiday to a place where I won't have access to a computer.**

 **Thank you for your patience and kind words for when I had to put this story on ice a few weeks back. To recap, Draco and Hermione are spending a week at The Burrow. Aside from a wee tap to Draco's chin from Arthur's fist, everyone's getting along swimmingly!**

 **Read on to see what happens next…**

* * *

Ginny, the boys and a slightly reluctant Arthur spent the idyllic afternoon playing a numbers-modified version of Quidditch. Draco's eyes were out on stalks practically the entire time, and they were focussed on just one thing.

No, it wasn't Hermione. It was Ginny.

In three short months, Durmstrang had taken her admittedly already-good game and pumped it chock-full of steroids. She was almost twice as fast on her run-of-the-mill broom as she was before, and her agile movements with the quaffle seemed to defy reality.

Harry pulled up alongside Draco. Smirking, he nodded at Ginny, who was busy remonstrating with Arthur about his decision to disallow a goal she'd thrown. 'She's improved a bit, eh.'

'A bit!' Draco exclaimed, impressed. 'I'll say. Glad I won't be in the Slytherin Quidditch team next year. They're going to be destroyed.'

He peered a little closer at Harry's face. He seemed a little too indulgent-looking.

It looked like a mid-air Weasley dust-up was about to commence, so Draco moved his broom a little closer to Harry and nonchalantly ventured 'So, you and Weaselette…?'

Harry's cheeks turned pink. 'It's early days,' he muttered.

'No-one's supposed to know, then?'

Harry shrugged. 'Her family are still feeling a bit protective of her. Much to her ire.'

Guilt scorched Draco's conscience. 'Yeah, but they love you. You're a known quantity.'

Harry grinned. 'Yeah, well. When the twins find out, I'd rather be hundreds of miles away from them _and_ their pranks.'

Draco nodded sagely. 'Good call.'

The air was rent by a piercing whistle from George. 'Come on, ladies!' he shouted at the pair. 'There's a game to be played! Finish your knitting some other time.'

They both rolled their eyes and got stuck in.

* * *

Ginny was here, there and everywhere. She popped in, out and around everyone's brooms, nabbing the quaffle before they could even blink. Even Harry struggled to keep up with her.

So, Draco had no idea how she managed to spot a tall, muscular red-head march out of the rickety house far below, while at the same time intercepting Fred's throw to Harry - but she managed, all the same.

'Look who's here!' she shrieked, tossing the quaffle to an unsuspecting Arthur and zooming down at breakneck speed. She was shortly followed by the cheering twins, then Arthur, albeit at a statelier pace.

'Charlie's here!' Harry called out to Draco. 'He's the one who works with dragons in Romania. Wonder what he's doing here?' He bit his lip, and Draco knew he was wondering if there was any news about Ron, who'd been sent there in disgrace after almost killing him.

Goosebumps rose on his flesh. He had a feeling his life would be forever tied to the Weasleys, now. Not just indirectly, through Hermione – he was prepared to tolerate a soupçon of Weasleyism (from time to time) for her. However, his past year's interactions with Ginny and Ron have reaped far-reaching consequences.

Yeesh. He rolled his eyes. If only he knew then…

* * *

Draco was the last to descend to the ground, giving the family time to meet and greet the new arrival. Hermione had come outside too, along with Molly, bearing refreshments. Her face was flickering from overjoyed to pensive at the sight of her tall, burly, tattooed son.

Hermione disentangled herself from Charlie's strong hug, and smiled at Draco, her cheeks pink.

He headed over to the group, raising his eyebrows at her. Pink-cheeked by a Weasley, eh?

'Charlie,' Hermione said, 'this is Draco Malfoy. I don't know if you remember him from your last year at' –

SMACK!

Charlie punched Draco in the jaw, sending him spinning over to the picnic table.

'school,' she finished wearily.

Charlie flexed his knuckles while the twins howled in outrage.

'How come Charlie gets to punch Malfoy and we can't?' complained Fred.

'I didn't have time to send an owl telling him that honour had already been satisfied,' Arthur sighed. 'And how was I to know that he was coming here?'

'You-you medieval pigs!' Ginny shrieked, red-faced. 'Have none of you heard of the women's movement at all?' She turned on her heel and stormed inside the house.

Molly flocked to the picnic table, resting Draco's head on her pillowy bosom and patting his back in a motherly fashion. 'There, there, dear,' she crooned, 'Charlie didn't mean to hit you, I'm sure.'

Once again, Draco's reply was lost in the expanse of Molly's breasts.

'Charles Weasley!' Molly spat, sending a look scorched with hellfire over Draco's head to her second-eldest child. 'Apologise to Draco this minute! Just because you're three times the size of me doesn't mean I can't smack your arse.'

Charlie wandered affably over and held out his hand. 'Charlie Weasley,' he said pleasantly once Draco had fished himself out of Molly's décolletage. 'No hard feelings, eh?'

'None at all,' Draco replied, shaking Charlie's hand and gingerly feeling along his jaw.

'What brings you here, Charlie?' Harry asked, plonking down at the picnic table while Hermione inspected Draco's face again.

'That's going to bruise,' she prognosed, and headed into the kitchen to apply a cooling charm to a wet compress. The look she flashed at Charlie as she went past could have frozen Satan to his toilet seat.

He grinned and admired her rear view as she disappeared into the house.

He soon became aware of a nearby aura of buzzing hostility, and looked over to see Draco bristling at medium agitation level. 'So,' Charlie said, pouring himself a glass of homemade lemonade, 'you and Hermione, eh?'

'That's right,' Draco said evenly, mostly succeeding at keeping the growl out of his voice. Harry hid his smile.

Charlie took a long, satisfying drink. 'Well, she's a smart girl, so she must have a good reason for throwing her lot in with a Malfoy.' He perused Draco with assessing eyes. 'It must be your money, your charm, or that you're Merlin's gift to witchkind in bed.'

'Charlie!' admonished Molly, her cheeks red. 'Ignore him, Draco dear. Spending all that time among dragons has turned him into a philistine. I despair for the poor woman who'll have to put up with him,' she muttered as she disappeared into the kitchen.

Charlie ignored her. 'She's too good and pure to care about your money,' he speculated. 'And every Gryffindor knows never to trust a charming Slytherin. And that goes double for a Malfoy. Therefore' – he rested his burn-scarred hands behind his head, looking pleased – 'it must be the size of your - oof!'

He doubled over, winded, as Hermione poked him none-too-gently in his ribs on her way back to Draco. She applied the cold compress to Draco's smirking face.

Hermione fixed Charlie with a mock-glare. 'It's such a myth that women think that huge cocks are all that matters,' she said.

George, now sitting at the table with Fred, successfully kept his guffaw at bay. 'What exactly do you mean?'

She smiled sweetly. 'It's not the size that matters,' she said. 'It's how good you are with it.'

Rising, she headed back inside to fetch some arnica for Draco's bruise. Every bloke watched her silently; then Draco found himself the centre of attention by men with large grins on their faces.

'I'm more than adequately endowed!' he protested, wide-eyed. Then he smirked. 'But I'll also accept that I'm more than good with it, too.'

The summer air rang with loud hoots of laughter.

In the kitchen, Molly sighed happily. 'I knew they'd all get along!'

Hermione rolled her eyes, but smiled.

* * *

Another place was set at the dinner table.

'To answer Harry's question earlier,' Charlie mumbled around a forkful of summer salad (Draco kept his sigh to himself) 'I've got some business at the Ministry to tend to. It took longer than I thought, so I have to stay overnight.' He looked at Molly fondly. 'And what place is better to stay at than home, right Mum?'

She beamed. 'You're welcome here anytime, of course.'

Arthur decided there'd been enough ignoring of the elephant in the room, so he cleared his throat and quietly asked 'And how is Ron doing in Romania?'

This time, Charlie thoughtfully chewed his food before responding, much to Draco's relief. 'He's really grand. Doing a bang-up job.'

'Ooh, that's lovely!' Molly gasped. 'So he's really taken to dragon-taming?'

Charlie took a sip of his drink. 'Of course, it was hard at first – anyone who starts out in this industry needs to be fit and strong, so he had to build up his stamina. But he's definitely holding his own now.'

'Does he talk about what happened at school?' Ginny asked hesitantly.

Charlie's eyes smiled sadly. 'We find it best not to talk about his time at school.'

'Oh,' she whispered.

'Do you think he's can come home anytime soon?' Arthur asked.

Charlie looked into his cup. 'Not just yet,' he admitted. 'Besides, he's critically needed for the next few months. We've got some eggs hatching, and everyone will be needed for twenty-four-hour monitoring.'

'What type of dragon eggs will be hatching?' Hermione asked with interest.

Charlie launched into a stirring description of his favourite topic, and the subject of Ron was closed.

* * *

Later that evening in the parlour, Charlie stood up and stretched his muscular arms. 'I'm in the mood for a drink or two in the pub,' he said. 'Is anyone with me?'

The twins looked up from testing out a prototype of one of their smaller range of explosives in the fireplace, much to Molly's annoyance. 'Sounds good,' they said in unison.

'How about you two?' he asked Harry and Draco, who were playing a Muggle game of Battleship.

The looked at each other and shrugged. 'Yeah, why not?' Harry said.

'Dad, you coming?'

'What about us girls?' Ginny asked, smarting.

Charlie looked regretful. 'Sorry, kiddo, but just this once I'd like to have an evening with the boys. I promise next time I'm back, we'll have a girls' night out.'

'It won't be so bad,' Hermione said cheerfully, looking up from a Healer textbook. 'We'll have a girls' night right here.'

'It would be nice to have some peace and quiet,' Molly said wistfully.

Charlie rubbed his hands. 'Great! That settles it. Come on, Dad, get your coat.'

One by one, the blokes filed into the Floo and headed to The Leaky Cauldron.

Hermione raised an eyebrow to Ginny. 'What was that all about?'

Ginny folded her arms. 'Beats me,' she said thoughtfully.

* * *

Charlie bought everyone a drink, and they squeezed around one of the tables lurking in a corner.

'Right! Firstly, cheers,' he said, and everyone clinked their glasses.

'Cheers!'

Charlie took a large gulp of his Dragon Scale, then set his glass carefully on the table. 'Secondly, I want to talk to you about Ron.'

Everyone looked baffled. 'You already told us at dinner that he was doing well,' said Fred.

Charlie fixed him with a look. 'I lied.'

'Oh, hell,' muttered George.

'Spit it out then,' Arthur said unhappily.

'Um' – Draco tapped the table. 'Should Potter and I be here? This concerns your family.'

'Actually, it's good that you're here,' Charlie replied darkly. 'He really hates you, so it's best that you know what's going on. There's a possibility you and Hermione could be in danger.'

Draco sat back in his seat, silent.

'And he's not that happy with you either, Harry,' Charlie added.

Harry grunted into his drink. 'The feeling's mutual,' he muttered, then looked up guiltily. 'Sorry, guys.'

His apology was waved away.

Everyone sat a little closer to the table.

'I lied earlier because I don't want Mum worrying,' Charlie admitted. 'Nor do I want Ginny freaking out. But it's like Ron's become another person entirely. He walks around with a massive chip on his shoulder, blaming everyone for what happened and accepting none of it for himself. He's surly and rude to everyone, stays out all night in town and frequently turns up late – and still drunk – to work. He's pissing off all my staff and I'm just about out of patience with him, Dad.' He looked up and met his Dad's worried eyes.

'I'm sorry, son,' he said sombrely. 'I had no idea he was that bad. Still.'

'The staff told me what he says about Malfoy, Harry, Hermione and Ginny.' Charlie's eyes glittered in the dim light. 'He can't come back here. There's no way that can happen.'

Everyone drank, lost in their own thoughts.

'But how are you going to cope with him?' Harry asked.

'I spoke to the Auror Department,' Charlie confessed. 'Not about putting him into custody, although I wonder if that might be what he needs. I want them to send someone to Romania and be a sort of threatening presence for him. They're not keen, though,' he admitted tiredly. 'They'd rather sling him in Azkaban for what he did to Malfoy.'

Arthur clasped Charlie's arm. 'I'll go with you tomorrow.'

'Thanks, Dad.'

'Do you think Hermione and Red are in real danger?' Draco asked.

'As long as he stays in Romania - no.'

'Has he said he wants to return?'

'No. Not to me, anyway.' Charlie sighed. 'He's my brother, but… it's hard to believe that he is. He's like a stranger.'

The group grimly finished their drinks in silence.

* * *

Draco was glad everyone started going to bed when they got back from the pub. He had a lot of things to worry about, and he just wanted to lose himself in Hermione's touch. Her scent. Her body. Know for himself that she's safe.

On auto-pilot, he followed Hermione up the stairs and along wonky corridors until she entered a brightly-lit bedroom. She turned around, her eyes widening when she saw Draco about to enter.

'Draco, no!'

WHACK!

Too late.

Draco walked head-first into an invisible forcefield surrounding the bedroom door.

'Argh!' he cried, holding his nose. 'What the hell…?'

Hermione looked guilty. 'I thought someone had told you…'

He glared at her. 'Told me that I'm spending another fucking week sleeping separately from the woman I love?'

'I'm sorry,' she said unhappily. 'It's Arthur and Molly's rules.'

Ginny slunk past Draco and into the bedroom. 'You're sleeping with Harry in Ron's old room,' she said, before skipping out of the range of his icy glare.

'Draco' – Hermione pleaded.

But he'd run out of patience. His one decent chance of getting a good nights' sleep was stuck on the other side of a forcefield, and he was going to have to share a bedroom with an ex-fucking Gryffindor.

(He knew that Hermione was an ex-Gryffindor, but that's hardly the same thing.)

Muttering 'We'll talk in the morning, okay?' he turned away and slunk off.

After many flights of stairs and missed turns, he finally located Weasel's room. It was pitch-black, so he cast a _Lumos,_ discovering that Harry was already tucked up in one narrow bed, dead to the world.

Draco turned down the sheets of the other bed and flopped face-down onto it. Dousing the _Lumos_ , he cast a _Muffliato_ for Harry's sake (he was being kind to ex-Gryffindors without being asked, for Merlin's sake!), took a deep breath, and screamed into the pillow.

He didn't remember what happened after that.

* * *

 **A/N: Poor, grouchy Draco! And what's going on with Ron? What's going on with Harry and Ginny, for that matter?**

 **I'll be back in the New Year with more of this story. Have an awesome holiday season everyone; keep safe and be good to each other!**

 **Ngā mihi o te wā me te Tau Hou (A Merry Christmas and Happy New Year)**

 **Yours,**

 **NeverNik**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: It's a Christmas miracle, readers! In the form of my Mum, who let me borrow her laptop while on our family holiday. Since the destination of the holiday was a seven-FREAKING-hour plane trip away, I managed to write a whole chapter of TA2 in a Stopover environment! Alas, I was not invited to tour the 'upstairs' ;)**

 **Thanks so much for your lovely reviews! A couple of reviewers said they'd binge-read all of the first TA and up to chapter 13 of this one, for which I admire their stamina and courage :) I'm beginning to wonder if my stories should come with a medical disclaimer? haha**

 **As always, please enjoy! Oh - almost forgot. Lemon below...**

* * *

Hermione watched Draco depart with a pensive look and a nibbled lower lip.

Ginny, who'd already leapt into bed, rolled her eyes. 'He'll get over it,' she said, sounding like her Mum. 'Now, hop into bed! It's time to talk.'

Dutifully, Hermione doused the room's light and climbed into her twin bed by the light of her wand. 'About the boys?' she asked, facing Ginny. 'They came back from the pub very subdued, and in Draco's case, cranky.'

Ginny cast a small _Lumos_ and held it beneath her chin. 'That is worth looking into, but we can beat it out of them later. You must remember that the traditional topic for discussion after Lights Out is'- she paused for dramatic effect – 'boys!'

Hermione wrinkled her brow. 'But that topic is about boys.'

Ginny sighed. 'If you subtract Dad and my brothers from that group, who do you have left?'

Hermione didn't need to think that hard to figure it out. Or think at all, really. 'Draco and Harry.'

'Correct!' Ginny imitated a toothy game-show host she'd seen when watching TeeVee at the Grangers. 'I'd like to go first.'

Hermione snuggled down in her bed, bracing herself for a detailed description, or speculation, about parts of Harry's body she'd prefer not to think about, thank you.

Then Ginny sobered. 'About Malfoy.'

Surprised, Hermione glanced over at Ginny's face. Now it was her turn to bite her lip.

Gently, Hermione said 'You don't have to, Gin, it's okay'-

'But I do have to,' Ginny blurted. 'I need you to completely understand what happened between us, otherwise I'll never get over this lingering guilt. About you not really knowing. Draco's not told you anything, has he?'

No, he hadn't. Well. He'd told her, in a most uncharacteristically subdued and stumbling manner, about why he seduced Ginny, and when - along with why - he ended it. And that he hadn't taken her virginity. Which probably kicked off Pansy's diabolical revenge.

She didn't yell. She didn't scream. She didn't slap his face or take to his testicles with a rusty razor blade. Just one look at his white, guilt-ridden face told her all she needed to know.

That he'd changed, and for the better.

But having Draco give her chapter and verse about exactly what he and Ginny did without their clothes on wasn't something she was dying of curiosity to learn.

'Gin'-

'I mean it.' Ginny's voice wobbled. 'I don't want you thinking it was worse than what it was.'

Hermione didn't need much imagination to think that this could be a very bad idea. But Ginny was determined, so she hoped her love for and trust of Draco was solid enough for her not to fillet him like a side of beef afterwards.

'All right,' she said, very reluctantly.

'Thank you.' The relief in Ginny's voice was plain to hear. She was quiet for a moment, thinking. 'At the beginning, we mostly sniped at each other. But even then, he did his best to calm my nerves…'

* * *

Hermione listened, staring at the ceiling, while Ginny spoke. She didn't interrupt.

She heard about all the things Draco showed or taught Ginny; who was clothed and who wasn't. She also heard how patient and respectful he was with her fiery friend; how he refused to give in to her increasingly impatient demands for full sex; and that his own needs were considered last of all, if ever. How they slowly bonded over Quidditch, and began to forge a tentative friendship that was separate to the sex lessons.

And that's all they were. Just lessons. They didn't feel anything for each other except as cautious friends. And those abruptly ended when Hermione stole his heart.

Eventually, Ginny ran out of things to say. She was tempted to nip downstairs and cool her parched throat with a slug or two of the twins' bootleg firewater that they thought they'd concealed from the rest of the family.

There was an unnerving silence from the other bed. Had Hermione fallen asleep? It was most unlike her to be silent for so long while conscious.

Then she heard a muffled sob.

Oh, hell.

Ginny leapt out of bed and crouched on the floor next to Hermione's head. Wanting to put her arm around her friend but unsure how it would be received, she clutched her hands together and beseeched 'Please don't cry! I'm not worth it. Please don't kill Malfoy either – I never thought I'd say this, but even he deserves a second chance at life.'

The sob changed into a wet, sniffly giggle. 'I'm not angry-upset,' Hermione promised. 'It's just that hearing about how Draco was with you… I felt…'

'Yes?'

'Envious.'

'Eh? What on earth for?'

'I wish he'd taught me what he'd taught you, the way he taught you'- Hermione got no further. Emotion overwhelmed her, and tears tracked down her cheeks.

Overcome, Ginny hopped into Hermione's bed and wrapped her arms around her dear friend.

When Hermione's sobs dwindled, Ginny whispered 'You'll have Draco as your friend, lover and partner for the rest of your lives. My time with him was a drop in a bucket compared to all the experiences you've yet to have together. There's no need to envy me. Therefore, I forbid you to.'

Hermione smiled and turned to face Ginny. 'You've become so wise, lately.'

Ginny snorted. 'Three months in a sports-mad school when you're only one of three girls makes an impression on you.'

Hermione smiled again.

They lay silently together, cheek to cheek, like they did when they were kids.

'I'll say this for Malfoy, though,' Ginny ventured slowly.

'What's that?'

'Godric, he's good.'

They dissolved into giggles.

'Gin?'

'Yep?'

'Do you think you could teach me how to striptease?'

* * *

Harry and Draco's heart-to-heart occurred in the morning, as both were asleep the night before.

When Draco woke, he fought off the unsettling feeling of the discombobulation one associates with waking up in a strange bed, room and house. For a startling few seconds, he thought the room was on fire, but he realised that it was just wallpapered end-to-end with lurid orange Chudley Cannons memorabilia.

He glanced over at Harry and wondered how in Merlin's name he managed to sleep through the troll's battle cry that was Potter's snoring.

He felt around on the floor for a suitable missile and lobbed it at Harry's head.

Harry fought off the silken fabric that suddenly covered his face. Blearily, he opened an eye and squinted at it, only to yell out and fling Draco's boxer briefs as far away from him as possible.

Draco hooted with laughter while Harry groped for his wand and vigorously s _courgified_ himself.

'What the hell was that for?' Harry snapped as he put on his glasses and raised himself up on his elbows.

Now it was Draco's turn to yelp. He was used to Potter's thatch of unruly black hair looking like someone had taken a Muggle eggbeater to it, but the horrific state of Harry's bed-hair reminded him of a shaggy dead animal, well in the stages of advanced rigor mortis and likely beginning to smell.

Draco did his best not to look at it. 'Because you were putting the house at serious risk of collapse with your ground-shaking snores.'

'Whatever,' Harry mumbled.

'Also, I'm irritated and horny. Not for you, you understand.'

'I sincerely hope you don't entice Hermione into bed by throwing your dirty laundry at her.'

'Har, har,' said Draco, mildly sarcastic. Changing the subject slightly, he asked 'Can I ask how far you've taken things with Red?'

Harry flushed. 'What's it to you?' he asked suspiciously.

Draco rolled onto his stomach and rested his chin on his fists. 'Because I can't face another week without having sex with Hermione,' he said frankly. 'You've no idea what lengths we've gone to in order to be together these holidays! So, if you're sleeping with Red, you must know of a place on the property where you can be undisturbed that isn't affected by the anti-nookie wards.'

Hiding a wince at the unbidden image of Malfoy and Hermione having sex, Harry mumbled 'We've fooled around a bit.'

'Fooling around is good,' Draco encouraged. 'Any tips for locations?'

Harry sighed. 'In the barn, Arthur keeps a Muggle Ford Anglia.'

'Huh?'

'It's a car, Malfoy.'

'I knew that.' Draco ignored Harry's snort. 'Go on.'

'That's it.'

'What's it?'

Harry clutched his hair. 'That's where we go.'

'Oh! Right.' Draco thought. 'Is that the only location?'

'Well, you could try the garden shed, but it's currently occupied by gnomes, and they don't take too kindly to being asked to sit outside while you put a tie on the door handle.'

Draco pouted. Fucking gnomes. Well. This isn't awkward, having to co-ordinate shagging times with Harry-the-Boy-with-a-Dead-Animal-on-his-Head Potter. 'Uh, so…'

Harry sighed again. 'The safest time's at night, so how about we have alternate nights?'

Draco would have preferred one hundred percent exclusivity, but even he could see that wasn't going to fly. 'Fair enough,' he agreed. 'So, tonight…?'

Harry flopped back onto his bed. 'Fine. You can have tonight.'

His mother raised him to be a gentleman. 'Thanks awfully, Potter,' he said. 'I'll make an extra effort not to throw my undies at you from now on. You can't say fairer than that.'

'Oh dear God,' Harry mumbled.

After a few minutes' silence, Harry quietly said 'Malfoy?'

'Hmmmph…?'

'Do you have any… well… tips for being with Ginny the first time?'

Draco opened an eye. 'Surely you know what to do? You didn't spend all that time in Parkinson's room playing chess, I imagine.'

Harry ignored that statement. 'I've never been with a virgin before,' he mumbled. 'I don't want to hurt her.'

Draco slowly sat up. 'As long as we only talk about this once.'

'Agreed,' came Harry's vehement agreement.

Draco thought back to the surreal time he spent with Ginny in the Room of Requirement earlier in the year. 'She's responsive,' he said quietly. 'She orgasmed quickly when I touched her g-spot. She's small, though, and tight, significantly so. Make sure she's very aroused, very wet. And depending on your, er, size, you may not be able to go all the way in. Use your fingers first to see…' he couldn't go on.

He hauled himself out of bed and searched for something he could throw on while trying to locate the bathroom in this vertical rabbit warren.

Harry watched him in silence. 'Thanks,' he said, when it became apparent that Draco wasn't going to add any more.

Draco pulled on some track pants and faced him. 'For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Potter,' he said in a low voice, his grey eyes steady on Harry's.

Alert the _Prophet!_ was Harry's initial reaction. But he had the nous to nod formally at him and say 'It's okay, mate. Ginny has time for you, and I trust Hermione's judgement without question. You've become reasonably tolerable, you know.' Then he smirked. 'Shame you weren't like this all through school.'

Draco smirked and gave him the finger.

He was just about to open the bedroom door when Harry said 'Malfoy. I've got something for you.' He climbed out of bed and fossicked through his backpack.

Draco turned around, a confused wrinkle marring his marble-sculpted forehead.

Harry found what he was looking for and headed towards him. 'I didn't have the chance to return this to you.' He held out his hand.

In it was the rumpled, unopened letter that Draco gave to Harry before just before the duel began.

Draco swallowed. He stared at the outstretched letter. 'You kept it.'

Harry shrugged. 'It wasn't mine to throw away. And since you lived, I didn't give it to Hermione.'

Draco's hand shook a little as he took the letter from Harry. 'Thanks,' he whispered.

Harry ran a hand through his rumpled hair. 'We won't talk about this, either. In fact, how about we have a rule: nothing that gets talked about in this room gets talked about again?'

Draco raised an eyebrow, impressed. 'You'd make quite the diplomat, Potter.'

'Something to consider if I don't get into a Quidditch team, I suppose.'

* * *

The household woke, yawned and stretched. Everyone assembled at the kitchen table where Molly loaded it down with bacon, sausages, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms and towering piles of toast. Items such as yoghurt and fruit salad have never darkened Molly's kitchen door.

This time, Draco pounced on the tureen of scrambled eggs before anyone else did. He preened under Hermione's admiring eye as he dished some out for them.

'So! What does everyone have planned today?' Molly asked brightly, as she finally sat down to a plate of toast and preserves.

'Work,' monotoned the twins.

'I didn't mean you two,' Molly sniffed. 'What about the rest of you?'

'I'm popping in to the Ministry with Charlie, dear,' Arthur said, chasing a runaway tomato around his plate.

'Why's that?' Molly was perplexed, but thankfully not suspicious. 'You're still on summer holidays! You haven't made a dent in the list of things that need fixing.' She waggled her wand and a rolled parchment appeared by her shoulder. It unravelled itself, spilling to the floor and then some.

Arthur turned pale and gulped.

'I won't be in all day, dear,' he assured her hastily. 'I'll be back in a couple of hours' time to tackle the' – he swallowed – 'list.'

'Oh, good!' Molly beamed. Then: 'What exactly is it that you're doing at the Ministry, Charlie, dear?'

Charlie paused with a gigantic forkful of heavily-salted meat product at his mouth. His eyes darted around the table, taking in the silent glances of the other men, Hermione and Ginny noted.

'Some new regulations from the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures have been proposed,' he said lightly. 'I'm here to put in a submission about dragon repatriation to their country of origin.'

'That sounds fascinating, Charlie!' Hermione said, all innocence. 'I'd love to hear all about it.'

Charlie turned a rather fetching shade of pink. 'How about when I get back, love?'

Hermione smiled and said that was fine, while Draco growled under his breath at Charlie's over-familiar endearment. Only one man gets to call Hermione 'love,' and that man is Draco Malfoy, i.e. him.

'How about the rest of you?' Molly asked, directing the teapot towards her mug.

'Hermione and I have something organised for the day,' Ginny said brightly.

Harry and Draco glanced at each other. 'Quidditch?' they both mouthed; then nodded.

'And the boys will be coming with us!' added Hermione.

Two sets of shoulders slumped a little.

'What are we doing?' Harry asked.

Ginny and Hermione grinned. 'Shopping!' they said together.

Two sets of shoulders slumped a little more.

* * *

'But darling,' Draco tentatively argued as they assembled later by the Floo, 'I don't need to go shopping. I have everything I need.'

'Don't you need anything for your first semester at University?'

'Possibly. I haven't received an owl about it yet.'

'Well, what about your university accommodation?'

Draco looked blank.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. 'You do know where you're going to be living, aren't you? Or are you planning to Floo back and forth from Malfoy Manor?'

Perish the thought. 'I assumed we'd have a place together,' he said.

She stared at him, eyes wide. 'You mean 'live together?'' she gasped.

Draco shrugged. 'Well, yeah.'

Hermione's mouth open and closed a few times. Ginny whispered 'We'll meet you there,' and pushed a resigned Harry into the Floo.

'Uh-huh,' Hermione replied, hardly listening. She looked at her hands, then up at Draco, and said 'T-this is rather sudden. I mean, we haven't talked about this.'

Draco eased his hands around her waist. 'What's to talk about? I love you, you love me. We're both attending University for the same semesters. If we got separate places, one of us would be wasting our money because we'd be sleeping at the other person's place. We're adults, love. We don't need to keep sneaking around.' Except for this week, he added silently.

A smile crept over Hermione's blushing cheeks. 'This is such a big deal in the Muggle world,' she said shyly. 'Moving in with your boyfriend.'

Draco smiled. 'It's almost unheard of in the Wizarding world. People usually live at home until they marry. Society could be scandalised.'

She grinned. 'Fuck society _.'_

'That's my girl.' He kissed her forehead, followed by the tip of her nose, then her lips.

'Oi! Confine your dry-humping to the bedroom please,' Fred grumped as he and George got ready to Floo to their shop. 'Some of us don't need to have it rubbed in our faces that we're temporarily short on girlfriends.'

Draco showed them his manicured middle finger while Hermione wrapped her arms around his shoulders. 'We're going to be living together!' she said proudly.

Fred and George exchanged looks, then rolled their eyes. 'Oh, Godric,' George muttered, and Floo'd away.

Fred patted Hermione sympathetically on her arm. 'If you need to dispose of a body in a hurry, send us an owl.' He winked and disappeared in a _whoosh_ of green flames.

Only six more days and we'll be free, Draco chanted in his head. Six more days…

* * *

Like refugees on a storm-tossed dodgy-looking motorboat built for a maximum capacity of six but three hundred desperate, ripped-off souls are crammed on board, Draco and Harry clung to each other (metaphorically), prayed (well, invocations were frequently made to Merlin, Gryffindor, Slytherin and a few other lesser-known personalities) and counted the seconds until they found themselves washed up on the shore of a (hopefully) benevolent nation that had a pub within crawling distance from the beach.

In short, they bonded over their intense dislike of shopping.

Shopping one-on-one with Hermione is fine, Draco mused. But stick two or more women together and all of a sudden a short trip to buy something simple like a sunhat turns into an expedition of Shackleton-like proportions. For example, it took Ginny and Hermione two bloody hours for each of them to select one article of clothing from one of Diagon Alley's emporiums, as each suggested item had to be carefully scrutinized for colour, length, boob flashability and overall sexiness (at least, in Ginny's perception) by the other girl before it was tried on, and – inevitably – discarded.

He tried to count the number of items of clothing that they'd tried on and deemed not worthy of their Galleons, but he got too depressed after reaching one hundred to continue.

Finally, they decided on their purchases. Or purchase. Ginny was now the proud owner of a wispy silver high-above-the-knee dress that would do for school dance functions and other places of entertainment that her mother didn't frequent. And Hermione contented herself with a fitted bronze-coloured t-shirt with a cowl neck and cold shoulders.

Draco and Harry's mouths fell open when the girls presented themselves with one teensy shopping bag dangling from their arms. 'That's it?' Harry said faintly.

'We need to pace ourselves,' Ginny explained.

Hermione could have sworn that for the briefest of seconds, both boys looked like they were about to cry.

'One more shop, and we'll go to the pub for lunch,' she soothed.

They perked up a tad. 'What's the next shop?' Draco asked bravely.

'Lingerie!'

They perked up a lot more.

* * *

That adventure resulted in a mixed bag, the boys decided later. One the one hand, it was nice to view all the lovely, frothy lacy bits and pieces that the girls selected for trying on and imagining how they would look on their respective girlfriends' bodies. On the other hand, the number of suspicious glares they received from staff and the other customers took the shine off the experience somewhat.

Eventually they sat outside and zoned out until the girls left the shop, bearing, they noted with interest, even smaller shopping bags.

Draco hopped up. 'Carry your bags, madam?' he asked Hermione, reaching out a hand.

She slapped it. 'You're not getting to see what's in the second bag until later,' she warned.

'How much later?'

She eyeballed him. 'You tell me.'

He grinned and winked. 'Leave it to me.'

Draco and Harry were much revived by their splendid lunch and liquid libation at the pub. Resigned to their fate, they meekly asked where their next port of torture – er, shopping destination – was.

'Quality Quidditch Supplies,' Ginny sing-songed.

Choirs of heavenly angels sang around the boys' heads.

'And I'm going to Flourish and Blott's,' Hermione said smugly.

She may as well have told the air, since the boys had already leapt out of their chairs and were helping the girls out of theirs.

'And after that, we're meeting up to look at shoes,' Ginny said firmly.

Only Draco heard the tiny sob that broke from Potter's mouth.

* * *

It was midnight, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring – not even the ghoul that lived in the attic.

Oh. Except for Draco and Hermione.

'Where are we going?' Hermione asked as Draco led them outside, dressed in their jim-jams, and crossed the lawn under the twinkling stars.

'It's… a surprise, my dear,' Draco said, wondering, not for the first time, whether all this skullduggery was worth it. Then he remembered that it was either this or Mr Hand for six long, long, long, long days. And nights.

He couldn't _wait_ for university to begin.

Hermione frowned when he led them to the Weasley barn. She frowned a little more when he led them inside the dark, cavernous interior. By the time Draco located the Ford and opened one of the back doors by the light of his _Lumos,_ she was scowling mightily and had her arms crossed under her breasts.

'No,' she said when Draco reached for her hand.

'Oh. You want to do it on the bonnet? Cool.' He took a step forward when Hermione's arm shot out and blocked him.

'Draco, are you insane?' she hissed. 'I'm not some whore you pay by the hour. Nor are we a couple of teenagers sneaking around behind our parents' backs.' Then she stopped. 'Oh.'

Draco leaned against the car and drew her slowly into his arms. 'I know it's not ideal,' he whispered. 'But I have it on good authority that this is the only viable place for us to be private.' He rested his chin on her head.

He was leaving the decision to her, she realised. She knew that going for a week or more without sex was difficult for him, since he's hardly ever had to do it. And his temper at Malfoy Manor as their two-week stay progressed wasn't the mellowest it could have been.

And she loved being with him, so close together that the intimacy sometimes brought tears to her eyes.

Also, he's an incredible fuck.

But a car, for Christ's sake? She felt like she was an extra on _Grease._

She knew what to do.

She shivered lightly. 'It's a little cool out here,' she whispered. 'Shall we take shelter?'

She felt him smile. 'Your horseless carriage awaits, my lady,' he replied, and opened the car door.

* * *

Once inside, Draco conducted a professional inspection of the back seat, judging how much room they had.

Eventually, he sat back and slung an arm around the back rest. 'Well. It's a little bijoux,' he commented.

Hermione burst out laughing, smothering her mouth quickly. 'That's an excellent description of the situation we find ourselves in, Mr Malfoy.'

He grinned. 'This means we are restricted in the number of applications that can be utilized.'

She slowly crawled onto his lap. 'I love it when you get all business-like,' she purred.

'You do?'

'Try it and see.'

He wound an elegant hand through her curly hair. 'I therefore propose that the interlude commences with a mutual and simultaneous exchange of oral stimulation to each other's organs of reproduction. Or one after the other, if the circumstances do not permit.'

So, a sixty-nine, or cunnilingus and a blow-job if there wasn't enough space.

Hermione removed her Snoopy sleep shirt and dropped it onto the passenger seat. 'That meets with my approval, Mr Malfoy,' she smirked. She brushed her fingertips over her nipples. 'As you can see.'

Mr Malfoy could see, indeed. Nothing wrong with his eyesight, no sir. He could also see that Ms Granger had neglected to don her intimate apparel, i.e. her panties.

Big Drake wanted to see it, too. So he let him out.

Hermione slowly straddled him, brushing her core over his erection. He hissed. 'And afterwards, Mr Malfoy? What do you propose?'

His eyes glittered in the moonlight, and his own fingers replaced Hermione's over on her breasts.

'I propose,' he drawled, 'that the position you currently occupy seems ideal for these straitened circumstances.'

She put her lips to his ear. 'You want me to ride your cock until you explode in my cunt, Mr Malfoy?' she whispered before drawing his earlobe gently into her mouth.

 _Fuck…_

He pulled her face towards his and kissed her urgently, roughly. Their teeth clashed, so did their tongues – they were too impatient to observe the niceties.

'Yes,' Draco gritted in response to her provocative question.

Hermione smiled slowly and lifted herself off him. The night air felt cool over his drenched cock and he closed his eyes, briefly savouring the feeling.

Hermione stood in the cramped footwell. 'Come on, big boy,' she giggled, 'let's see if you're small enough, for once.'

Draco raised a superior eyebrow and lay down on his back, his erection standing as stiff as a flagpole. He beckoned her boldly. 'Get on my face, woman,' he demanded.

I can't believe I'm doing this, she sighed to herself. But she climbed onto the seat, onto Draco and settled her wet core at his mouth. She didn't even have time to grip his cock with her hand before he grabbed her buttocks and sank his tongue into her channel.

'Omigod!' she squealed. Oh, he was delicious.

'Wanerinpan,' Draco said between her lush, pink labia.

Hermione translated that to mean 'Wand is in my pants,' so she felt around on the car floor for his trackpants, pulled out his wand and passed it back to him. Draco pulled away from her cunt for the briefest of seconds to cast a silencing spell. That done, he tossed his wand aside and dove straight back in, paying luscious attention to her clitoris and driving her insane with pleasure.

Meanwhile, Draco's cock was very wet indeed from the going-over she'd given it with her mouth. She swirled her tongue around the head, flicking it lightly through the slit at the top before working her way down, inch by slow inch, down his hard length. She bobbed her head up and down, striving to make her way further down, where she'd never been able to reach. His cock filled her mouth, and started to nudge the back of it.

Draco felt his stresses melt away. If there was anything he loved better than Hermione going down on his cock, it was pushing his face into her dripping wet cunt, capturing and swallowing her juices. Hearing her moan. Watching her body tremble as she lurched towards orgasm – much like she was doing now, he noted.

Pulling his tongue out of her channel, he applied it to her clitoris, lashing it energetically while he plunged two long fingers into the space he just vacated.

Hermione shrieked around his cock, the vibrations shooting through him. Gods, this is heaven, he thought happily. I could die quite happily with her on my –

She came forcefully, as his squished-together fingers could attest to. Now a little more confident with cunnilingus, Hermione ground her cunt into his face, and he still couldn't get enough of her. Leaving her clitoris, he lapped up the juices that pulsed from her body, his eyes closed in euphoric bliss.

She stopped trembling, and pulled his cock out of her mouth, breathing hard. He applied a kiss to each beautiful buttock, and she moved off him. Rubbing his face, he pulled himself up and sat in the centre of the back seat.

'Gods,' he whispered, 'it gets better every time.'

'Still can't deep-throat you,' she pouted.

He pulled her gently onto his lap. 'Don't worry about me,' he said. 'I mean it.'

She smiled at him, a little sadly. 'I can't believe I used to think you were arrogant and selfish.'

'I'm still arrogant and selfish!'

'Well, I'll give you arrogant. But you're not selfish anymore.'

'I bloody well am. You're the only person I put before myself.' He thought. 'And Mother, I guess.'

'Probably best not to talk about your mother while we're having sex.'

'Good point.' His grey eyes met hers. 'Fuck me.'

Smirking, she saluted him and eased his cock into her pussy.

They soon discovered that the rocking movement brought on by their lovemaking caused the Anglia to rock, too. And that someone had been neglecting the poor car's rusty springs. No doubt it was somewhere on Arthur's list of things to fix. After snorting with laughter into each other's shoulders, they decided to make it a quickie.

The garden gnomes were not amused about being woken by the rhythmic, creaking squeaks emanating from the barn, and decided to engage in a little bit of extra-special helter-skelter when the sun rose, thus adding to poor Arthur's list.

* * *

 **A/N: More hijinks at the Burrow next chapter! After that, viva Italia!**


	15. Chapter 15

Treacherous Affairs Part Two Chapter 15

A/N: Hello, readers! I think the theme of the reviews for chapter 14 should be called 'What is Happening Between Charlie and Hermione?' The funny thing is, I had no intention of anything happening between them! However, never let it be said that NeverNik backs down from a challenge, and so, just for you, I've created a tiny little bit of something. Hope you like it.

Despite Hermione's late and energetic night, she found herself wide awake early next morning. Tiptoeing out of Ginny's bedroom, she showered, dressed and headed downstairs to make a cup of tea.

Charlie's duffel bag was on the kitchen table, and the man himself was packing the last of his gear in.

He looked up as she entered. He smiled, and put a finger to his lips.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. 'Leaving without saying goodbye?' she asked.

He shrugged. 'Mum gets a bit emotional.'

'She'll get very emotional when she discovers that you've fled the coop without a farewell.'

His smile became a grin.

'She misses you,' she insisted, locating the kettle and putting it on to boil.

'I know.' The zipper of his bag slid shut.

Turning around to get the tea, she pulled up short when she saw Charlie leaning against the kitchen table with his arms folded and an unreadable expression on his face.

'Something the matter?' she asked.

'What are you doing with him?' he asked quietly.

This… was not expected.

But if Charlie could speak plainly to her, she could speak plainly to him.

'I love him. And he loves me.'

'He's a prat.'

She sniffed. 'According to Ron, you mean.'

He raised an eyebrow of his own. 'I recall a few conversations around this very table where you and Harry used words not dissimilar to those.'

She flushed. 'He's changed,' she defended. 'If you knew him before last year, you'd see how kind and loyal and loving he is now.'

'People can change back.'

For a moment, Hermione's temper nearly got the better of her. But one look at Charlie's ruggedly handsome face told her he wasn't be argumentative.

Not at all.

'Why are you doing this?' she asked wearily.

For a moment, the brash and confident Charlie faltered, closing his eyes and shifting position. Then he opened them.

'Because I care about you.'

She smiled tenderly at him. 'I know you do,' she said sincerely. 'And I care about you. You're like a brother to me, and I know you have my best interests at heart. But' –

'I'm not telling you this because I think of you like my sister,' he said harshly.

Her words dried up. 'Charlie…?'

He strode towards her, intent. 'You.' He breathed in, then out. 'You're a lovely, stunning young woman. You can do so much better than him! I guarantee you there are hundreds of men who will love and treat you so much better than he could.'

Her heart plummeted. Oh Charlie, no.

Tears formed in her eyes. 'How long?' she whispered.

He moved towards her and cupped her cheek. 'Long enough,' he said in a low voice.

The day's dawn lengthened between them. Hermione rued all the things polite society left unsaid. If Charlie had given her any indication earlier, she could have lost her virginity to…

Oh.

My.

God.

Indeed.

Charlie brushed her bottom lip with his thumb, and gently kissed her.

For a traitorous moment, Hermione gave in to the delicious feeling of his lips tasting hers, the scrape of stubble against her cheek.

Then, regretfully, she pulled back. 'I can't leave him,' she whispered. 'I don't want to leave him. I'm sorry, Charlie.'

He stepped away, smiling sadly. 'Don't be,' he murmured. 'Bad timing and all that.'

BANG!

The slamming of the front door startled them.

Did someone see them?

'I'd better go,' Charlie mumbled, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

'Good luck, Charlie,' Hermione whispered.

He stepped into the Floo and headed to the Ministry to collect his Portkey, his eyes on hers as the green flames swirled around him.

Hermione headed to the front door and peered out. Her heart sank.

They had been seen, after all. By a young man with striking blonde hair and a sinfully hot bod.

Who was presently striding angrily away from the house.

She charged after him. 'Draco!' she called out. 'Wait!'

He did not.

She put on a burst of speed and got close enough to touch his shoulder. 'I' –

He angrily shook her off and whirled around. She stumbled to a halt. She'd never seen him so furious before.

Furious and hurt.

'You kissed that overhyped animal trainer!' he snarled.

'You misunderstand! He kissed me!' she said desperately.

'Same fucking difference!'

Hermione smarted. 'First of all, no it's not. And second of all, if you hadn't stormed off in a huff, you would have eavesdropped on me telling Charlie that I won't leave you.'

He sneered. 'No need to feel obligated to stay with me. If you want an inked-up animal wrestler, I'll happily stand aside and let you run after the man of your dreams.'

'Are you even listening to yourself?' she said hotly. 'I don't want to be with Charlie! I want to be with you, although right now you're acting like the world's biggest prat.'

'Oh yeah? Well, this prat's never cheated on you!'

'I did not cheat on you!' she shrieked, sending the birds perched in the nearby trees scattering to the four winds.

'Why won't you believe me?' she whispered hoarsely.

Draco was silent. His chest rose and fell, like he'd just run a long-distance race.

'Because there are men out there who're better than me,' he said, defeated.

'Draco' –

'Seeing you being kissed by someone else…' he swallowed visibly.

Tears – more bloody tears – formed in her eyes. 'I'm sorry that you're hurt,' she said softly. 'But the Gods-honest truth is that Charlie declared his interest in me, not the other way around. He kissed me – briefly – but I told him that I wouldn't leave you. I don't want to leave you. Because I love you.'

She stepped cautiously towards him. 'I can't imagine my life without you, now,' she whispered.

For a long moment, he stood still, saying nothing. Then his features cracked, and he pulled her in and hugged her, hard.

Harry and Ginny watched discreetly from the open front door, relieved.

Next morning at breakfast, Molly fixed the remaining table occupants with an unamused eye. 'The garden,' she announced.

Forks, spoons and cups, halfway to lips, paused warily. Except for Draco, who kept contentedly eating his breakfast with one hand, his other holding Hermione's.

'It's an absolute disgrace!' she roared.

Fred and George glanced at each other and smirked.

'It's infested with gnomes! Teeming with gnomes! Impregnated with gnomes!'

'Huh?' Draco's head shot up, alarmed.

'Well! I won't stand for it anymore!' Molly thundered. 'This will be their last day at The Burrow, I promise them that!'

Fred and George clapped enthusiastically.

'Molly, dear,' Arthur gently ventured, 'if you want me to annihilate the gnome population' –

'For a couple of weeks,' sniggered George to Fred.

\- 'I won't be able to complete everything else on the' – he gulped – 'list.'

'Not a problem,' replied Molly loftily. 'The job of gnome annihilation has been delegated to another party.'

'Oh! Splendid,' Arthur beamed. 'Who, dear?'

'Harry and Draco,' replied Molly smugly.

Fred and George sniggered while Draco looked confused and Harry had the same look on his face that he had when he went shopping.

Which led Draco to deduce that gnome annihilation, whatever that was, wasn't a good thing.

Hermione and Ginny exchanged glances of relief – until Molly informed them that they were gong to help her spring-clean the house – top to bottom, every floor.

Breakfast ended rather quietly.

Except for where Fred and George sat.

Spring-cleaning by wand wasn't quite the onerous chore that spring-cleaning by Muggle methods was, but when you're tasked with spring-cleaning a house with umpteen floors and endless nooks and crannies, it was still slow going.

A few hours later, a dishevelled Hermione found a dishevelled Ginny in the kitchen, leaning against the windowsill and looking outside instead of organising the scrubbing of every surface the kitchen had to offer.

'What are you looking at?' Hermione asked.

Ginny grinned and beckoned her over.

Hermione peered out of the window. 'Oh my,' she breathed.

The objects of their attention were two shirtless young men, busily engaged in the art of gnome removal. This involved unearthing the gnomes from the – well, earth, obviously, chasing them around the garden if the any of the little bastards made a break for it, and confusing the bejesus out of them by whirling them around and around until they were quite dizzy, then sending them sailing over the hedge. All this made for rather energetic labour.

Which, of course, meant the boys quickly grew hot and bothered with their t-shirts, and the garments soon found themselves surplus to requirements.

As the morning wore on and the temperature rose, sweat dampened their hair and glistened on their faces… and arms… and chests… and backs… and… no, wait – those were the only places where glistening was happening.

Two fit, Quidditch-toned young men, glistening away… no surprise, really, that they caught Ginny's attention. And now Hermione's.

'Mommy like,' she smirked.

'I just love watching men hard at work,' Ginny grinned. 'Except for my brothers. And Dad.'

They were so entranced by the gnome-twirling Adonises that neither noticed Molly appear behind them, curious as to what they were doing.

When she discovered that they were leering at the boys, she clapped her hands sharply, sending both girls leaping into the air with fright. 'Girls!' she scolded. 'Stop ogling the boys and finish your work!'

'Yes, Mum,' was Ginny's doleful response.

'Yes, Molly,' was Hermione's, equally doleful.

They trudged back to their posts.

Oblivious to the ogling, Harry and Draco toiled peacefully enough in the garden. Gnome annihilation was something that Draco had no prior experience with, since Malfoy Manor had house-elves to crack on with that sort of thing. So, Harry gave him a crash course.

Draco being Draco, he learned quickly, and soon a competition developed between the two.

'So, Potter,' said Draco, trying out a two-handed hammer-throw gnome toss over the hedge, 'will tonight be the night?'

Harry didn't bother pretending know what to know what Draco was on about. Blondie was as persistent as a mosquito in your sleeping bag. 'I'm not sure,' he admitted, stumbling after a gnome who was running around the vegetable patch shouting 'Wheeeeeeeeeeee!'

'Gin's first time should be special,' he said. 'The back of a Ford Anglia does not sound special.'

Draco admitted that Mop-Head had a point. 'Will you get another opportunity before she goes back to Hogwarts?'

Harry shrugged unhappily. 'Probably not.'

Draco cornered the gnome Harry was chasing and, twirled and slung it over the hedge. It didn't seem to enjoy this part so much. Harry scowled at his loss of a point.

'Tell you what, Potter,' Draco said, slicking his hair back from his sweaty face. 'How averse are you to another round of 'shopping?' He air-quoted the last word.

Harry sensed intrigue. 'Go on…'

At long last, the work was completed to Molly's exacting standards. Arthur even greased up the springs in the Anglia, Draco noted.

The labour force, were sitting outside in the cooler afternoon sun, drinking home-made lemonade and lolling about in a sleepy stupor. Fred and George, just back from their daily toil, joined them. Hermione picked up the empty pitcher and headed into the kitchen to refill it, when she noticed that Molly was organising the cooking of more food than was necessary to feed the household. 'Are you expecting visitors, Molly?'

Molly beamed. 'Yes, indeed! I received an owl, saying' –

The Floo roared into life, and Molly's eldest child, Bill appeared. 'Hi Mum! Oh, hey, Hermione!' He hopped out of the fireplace and crossed to Molly, kissing her on the cheek and then to Hermione, whom he hugged.

'Lovely to see you, Bill!' Hermione smiled. Turning to the Floo, she waved at the vision of beauty was Bill's ethereal wife, making sure she wasn't accidentally touching any part of Bill that she shouldn't. Fleur Weasley's jealousy streak had a Veela-shortened short fuse.

''Ello 'Ermione!' Fleur trilled after hugging and kissing Molly hello. She embraced Hermione and they kissed each other on both cheeks. ''Oo are looking positively radiant! Tell me, what ees your secret?'

Hermione blushed. 'Good summer sun and fresh air,' she quipped.

'Hmm…' Fleur looked at her speculatively. 'I t'ink eet ees something else!' She looked at Bill indulgently. 'I teenk she is in love!'

It didn't help that Hermione blushed like a tomato.

Fleur laughed, beautifully, of course. 'Is 'ee staying 'ere?'

'He's outside,' Hermione admitted bashfully.

'I must meet 'im!' Fleur threaded her arm through Hermione's. 'Show me the way!'

They headed out the kitchen door, followed by an amused Bill.

Draco raised an eyebrow when he saw Fleur Delacourt – no, it's Weasley now – stroll arm in arm with Hermione to the picnic table. Cautiously, he stood up. Wither Fleur goest, Bill goest too.

Oh, shit. He was behind them.

Hermione, completely forgetting about Draco and Fleur's brief liaison and the consequences it could bring, obliviously introduced Fleur to Draco. 'You might remember him from the time you were at Hogwarts' –

A tall redhead moved the girls aside and stormed up to a resigned Draco.

SMACK!

This time, Draco hit the ground, flat on his back, completely winded.

Also, this time, it wasn't just Ginny shrieking in outrage. She was joined by Hermione, Fleur, and Molly, who was getting rather tired of all this testosterone being flung around.

'Bill! I owled you to say that we'd sorted things out with Draco!' Arthur remonstrated.

'I know,' Bill said, shaking out his punching hand. 'That was for him sleeping with my wife.'

'What?' everyone shrieked.

Fleur put her hands on her hips and glared frosty lasers at her husband. 'Ee slept with me before we even met!' she yelled angrily. ''Oo 'ad no right to hit 'Ermione's boyfriend like that.'

Bill's lips were compressed together in a thin line.

'Are 'oo going to punch every man I slept with before I met 'oo?' she demanded.

Molly, face buried in her apron, thanked her stars there weren't any neighbours living close by.

Bill, sensing that his wife was possibly not as enamoured of his grandiose romantic gesture as he may have mistakenly thought, nevertheless said 'But darling, it's a matter of honour…'

Fleur eyeballed him. 'I will tell you where you can shove your honour!' she snapped. Then she looked at the audience, sitting silently behind Bill, hanging on every word. 'Inside,' she added. She took a firm handle of Bill's earlobe and marched inside, the much taller Bill hunched over and moaning about his sore ear.

Fred and George, momentarily diverted by Fleur's Weasley-worthy performance, returned to remonstrating loudly with Arthur. 'This is beyond the pale, Dad!' Fred moaned. 'First you, then Charlie, now Bill! Yet George and I get to watch from the sidelines! This is discrimination, isn't it George?'

'It is indeed, Fred,' George added. 'Discrimination against multiple-birth children. It's an outrage, that what's it is!'

Arthur opened his mouth to tell them to get knotted, but Draco, who'd been helped back up on his feet by Harry and Hermione, said 'Just let them punch me, Arthur,' he said wearily. 'Then everyone will be happy.'

'I won't be happy!' Hermione snapped.

'Me either!' Ginny hotly added.

Too late – the twins had received their invitation, and were making their way, at speed, to where Draco stood, wobbling on his legs just a tad.

'Oh, hell,' Hermione moaned. 'I'll need some medical supplies.' She sprinted into the house.

Draco braced himself, planting his feet into the ground and gamely presenting his chin.

He eyeballed the twins, who were discussing amongst themselves who should go first.

'After you, Gred,' George bowed and gestured with a sweeping hand.

'Oh, no, after you, Forge!' Fred bowed deeper.

'Will one of you bloody well get on with it?' Ginny snapped. The suspense is boring me.'

She shrugged at Draco's raised eyebrow.

George stepped up to the plate, so to speak.

Draco swallowed and closed his eyes. He didn't need to see it coming.

George selected the most optimum part of Draco's face and bunched his hand into a fist.

Everyone held their breath. Hermione buried her face in her hands.

He pulled his fist back.

And then…

…

Draco opened an eye. 'Get on with it, man!' he said angrily.

George pulled his fist back against and…

'It's not good!' he wailed. 'I can't hit him! I actually like the wanker now!' he finished despondently.

Draco rolled his eyes. 'How about you, then?' he demanded of Fred.

'Step aside, George!' said Fred grandly, rolling up imaginary sleeves and cracking his knuckles.

Draco sighed and waited with his hands on his hips.

Fred pulled back his fist and…

'Oh gods, there's something wrong with me!' he wailed.

'Me too, brother!' George cried.

Suddenly, Draco was engulfed by the twins' gangly arms.

'Oof! Gerrof me, you ginger twats!'

Nevertheless, the twins thoroughly buried their newest addition to the clan in their arms until Draco gave up and hugged them back.

Hermione and Ginny watched them, mouths open.

'You know, there's something to be said about the way boys resolve a fight,' Hermione said thoughtfully. 'Sure beats cat fights and weeks of the silent treatment.'

Ginny smirked. 'I'll hold you to that next time we fight.'

Bill, rubbing his sore ear, approached Draco. They shook hands genially.

'I'll apologise if it'll help,' Draco said quietly.

Bill shook his head. 'Just be good to Hermione, all right?'

Draco looked Bill in the eye. They were almost the same height. 'You don't have to worry about that,' he said.

Bill nodded, and they went inside for dinner.

Just before Bill and Fleur headed home, Fleur pulled Hermione into a quiet corner. Her lovely eyes round with worry, she whispered 'Are you sure that Draco, 'ee is the man for you?'

Hermione smiled. 'I know that you knew him a few years ago, when he was arrogant, and selfish, and utterly insufferable, but he's changed, he truly has.'

If only I had a Galleon for every time I've said Draco's changed, she thought ruefully.

Fleur shrugged in the Gallic style. 'Ee seems to 'ave improved,' she conceded. 'I theenk that is your influence.'

Hermione flushed. 'I'm sure he's matured independently of me.'

'Hmph,' Fleur said doubtfully. 'I theenk, if you two were no longer togethair, he would soon revert back to 'is dissolute ways. Not that I want this to 'appen,' she tacked on hastily. Then she smiled. ''Eef you are 'appy with him, then I am 'appy for you.'

They hugged.

'At least 'ee is an excellent lover,' said Fleur airily. Then she winked. 'I taught him all he knows.'

She kissed Hermione goodbye and entered the Floo after Bill.

Hermione was speechless.

Next morning

After Molly enquired about everyone's plans for the day, Harry put down his knife and fork and said 'Draco and I thought we'd take the ladies shopping again.'

Hermione and Ginny's own clattered onto their plates. They stared at him in shock.

'Oh, lovely!' Molly beamed. 'Back to Diagon Alley?'

'No, we thought we'd go to Muggle London, have some lunch, make a day of it,' Harry replied vaguely.

Ginny looked thrilled.

Hermione raised a 'what the hell?' eyebrow at Draco, who took her hand and pressed it gently.

'Well, what are you waiting for?' Ginny cried, sculling her tea and leaping from her chair. 'I'll be reading in a jiff!'

Everyone watched her dash from the kitchen.

Hermione pulled back her chair and stood up. 'Uh, I guess I should also get ready too,' she stammered, edging away from the table while telepathically communicating with Draco for an explanation.

He merely blew her a kiss.

Draco should have known that Hermione wouldn't let him get away with it. But he didn't, so when he left Ron's bedroom and headed for the stairs, he yelped when someone leapt upon him from behind, wrapping their arms around his neck and their legs around his hips.

He swore and staggered sideways into the wall.

Harry left the bedroom and ambled past. 'Didn't know you two were into kinky shit,' he said.

'Hermione!' Draco gasped. 'Can't breathe!'

She sighed and climbed off him. Now she had Draco where she wanted, i.e. gasping for breath and sagging against the wall. She poked him in the chest. 'Spill!' she ordered.

He winced and rubbed the spot she poked. 'I assume you're referring to the shopping trip,' he muttered. 'Must you be so violent?'

She ignored him. 'I know there's got to be more to this shopping trip,' she snapped. 'So, what is it?'

He sighed. 'I made an arrangement with Harry,' he said. 'He wants to… well, 'be' with Ginny, he said, air-quoting. 'But he doesn't want her first time to be in the back of the Anglia, obviously. 'So, I, um, offered him our suite at the hotel in London for the afternoon.'

Hermione boggled. 'It's still booked?' she gasped.

'I have a deal with Tarquin. Just one phone call and it's sorted. We needed an excuse to travel to Muggle London, though, and the only thing the pair of us could think of as a valid excuse was shopping, worse bloody luck.'

She stared at him.

Draco stared warily back. 'Uh, love…?'

She launched herself at him again, but this time, it was to hug him, not strangle him.

'Wonderful, gorgeous man,' she whispered, connecting to him with a kiss so savagely beautiful that it was a surprise that the nearby bedroom wards didn't blare out like a police siren.

`Wow,' Draco breathed, breathless. 'I should keep you in suspense more often.'

She bared her teeth. 'Don't.'


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Home! Blessed home with my own computer – oh, how I've missed you!**

 **This chapter is predominantly Harry + Ginny + lemon; please take heed if this isn't your thing.**

 **I think I said we were supposed to be in Italy by now… I really should stop making these promises. This story has a life of its own, you know – won't listen to a thing I say…**

* * *

Ginny was full of a million ideas but few clues where to go, so Harry and Hermione decided that Harrods should take care of her desires. Initially, she was rather reticent, concerned about their prices, but Hermione assured her there was a sale on, and therefore good bargains were hers for the taking.

After they passed through the Leaky Cauldron, the foursome bussed to Knightsbridge. On the trip, Ginny jabbered nineteen to the dozen about what she wanted see, buy, and have done to her. Hermione looked behind her to the boys sitting behind them, and smiled evilly.

They gulped.

* * *

Even with the sale prices, the majority of what Ginny wanted to buy was beyond her budget. This didn't matter too much, as Hermione, Harry and even Draco were happy to buy this or that for her on the flimsiest excuses, such as 'for Christmas,' although it was six months away; 'for getting through Durmstrang without any broken bones or frostbite;' and 'for making a splash when you return to Hogwarts in triumph'. To this end, Ginny was now the proud owner of (among other things) some lovely items of make-up, a trendy pair of sunglasses, a rather shiny pair of ankle boots, and a lovely one-shouldered floaty cream and pink playsuit that had Harry's pulse marching overtime.

They lunched in one of the store's restaurants, since Harry and Draco complained that their feet were too sore to traipse anywhere else. Draco put in a good argument for the Caviar House Oyster Bar, with its varieties of Persian and Russian caviar starting at £110.00 a serving, and oysters whose prices were only revealed upon (serious) enquiry, but he was overruled in favour of the lovely Mango Tree restaurant, which served dim sum, grilled pork, lobster tempura and wagyu beef, to name a few of its exotic dishes.

'I would have paid for everyone,' Draco grumbled as they headed across the Ground Floor to the Mango Tree.

Hermione patted his arm - sympathetically, he presumed. Ah. She gets me.

* * *

As lunch drew to a close, Draco rubbed his hands together. 'Right! What does everyone want to do now?'

Before Ginny could supply a long list of other shops she wanted to lay siege to, Harry cleared his throat nervously and said 'Um, there's a place I want to show Ginny on Buckingham Palace Road.'

'Oh? What's that?' Draco asked, being a smirky prat.

'It's a surprise,' Harry replied, eyeballing him.

Hermione moved the conversation along by nudging Draco assertively in the ankle with her sandal. Ignoring his pained expression, she said to him 'Shall we take in a movie, D?'

His face lit up. 'One of those MooVees with lots of spacecraft and violence?'

Her hope for a romantic period drama floated away. 'Sure,' she smiled.

They arranged a time to meet at the Leaky to Floo home (not so late that Molly would get suspicious) and got up from their chairs.

Draco put a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. 'Relax, mate,' he whispered. 'One would think you're the virgin, not Red.'

Harry gave him a sour look.

* * *

'Oh, my bloody gods,' Ginny whispered as she ogled the suite that Tarquin so thoughtfully provided at the request of his most generous client.

Harry sculled his champagne in one gulp, and fought off the temptation to ring Room Service and ask for something stronger to be sent up. He didn't care what the suite looked like. He only had eyes for the beautiful red-head that was slowly twirling around the sitting room with her mouth open.

God, he was nervous. Why was he so nervous?

Draco's jibe about him acting like a virgin held a ring of truth. He was a virgin of being with a virgin. He took a deep breath in, and let it out.

Ginny bounced over to him. 'You okay?' she asked, looking at his face.

He smiled lopsidedly. 'Of course,' he said, lifting his hand and brushing his fingers through her lovely hair.

'So, this is the place you wanted to show me?' she asked mischievously.

'Apparently so,' he admitted.

She stood on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. 'Do you have any plans for what you'd like to do in this suite?' she grinned.

Ginny's happy enthusiasm helped quell some of his nerves. Her nearness and the delicious way she smelled helped Little Harry sit up and pay attention.

'One or two,' he smirked, and lowered his mouth to hers.

Ginny was a talented kisser, Harry had to admit. Of course, he knew why, but thoughts of Malfoy were not permitted to enter his head this afternoon.

As they parted, he murmured 'There's a mezzanine, too.'

Ginny gasped and bounded up the stairs, two at a time. 'Oh, my Gods!' she squealed when she got there.

Harry smiled and followed her up at a more sedate pace, allowing for his less-than-flexible erection.

* * *

Ginny wore exactly three items of clothing (aside from her sandals) – one bra, one pair of skimpy panties, and a batik sundress that buttoned down the front.

Harry very much enjoyed removing the sundress as Ginny stood by the bed, sinking to his knees as each button revealed more of her pale skin.

By happy coincidence, she was wearing the lingerie she bought the other day. Both were midnight blue with cream silk trim and had a silk-trimmed keyhole: at the back for the panties, and between the cups for the bra. The colours made her red hair flame.

'It's a push-up bra,' she said anxiously. 'I'm not that big,' she mumbled.

Harry, standing again, wound his hands into her hair and tilted her head up. 'I don't care,' he said before kissing her with urgency and pressing her body to his.

Still in his jeans but not much else, he trailed his lips down her neck and to the top of her breasts. He swept his tongue and lips over them, delightfully pillowed by the bra, delving into the valley between them, accentuated by the keyhole. Ginny moaned, her head falling back, her hands clutched in Harry's hair, urging him closer.

She let go just as Harry pulled away. 'This has to come off,' he gasped, just as she also gasped 'Take this off!'

Chuckling, he reached behind her and removed her bra. Brushing his thumbs over her pert nipples, she moaned and cupped her breasts in her hands, offering them to him.

He knelt again and dragged his hands down her waist and hips as he circled one strawberry nipple with his tongue – then sucked hard. Her body spasmed and she cried out, clutching his hair once more. He pulled her panties down to the floor and transferred his mouth to the other nipple. While he tugged with his lips, he applied the same pressure to the other nipple with his fingers.

'Oh, my gods!' Ginny's voice cracked, and Harry swore that he could smell the intoxicating scent of her grow stronger, hidden between her legs, with a helpful strip of gold-red curls showing him the way.

Meanwhile, his erection was practically throwing itself against the zipper of his jeans, demanding to be set free.

Ginny grabbed his arms and pulled him up. Her eyes were wild and her chest heaved. Feverishly, her small hands undid his belt and the button of his jeans. He pulled the zipper down himself, left she accidentally incur an injury; then his under-and outer wear were a thing of the past.

They stood, facing each other in silence. Harry lightly stroked his erection, mostly to keep it from taking matters into its own hands.

'I can hardly wait to be inside your beautiful body,' he whispered.

Ginny smiled, reached up and kissed him, laying a slender hand against his cheek.

Then she sank to her knees.

* * *

Harry's cock wasn't quite like Draco's, Ginny thought fleetingly. And it certainly wasn't like Blaise's, thank Merlin and all his little pixies. He wasn't as broad as Draco, but he was longer – and Draco was a considerable length already. In short, excuse the pun, it was a cock that made her mouth water and her clitoris pulse.

Harry took his hand away as she palmed it, then began to expertly stroke him – nice and firmly along the length with a twist around the head.

He let out a shuddering breath, watching through half-closed eyes as she stroked him perfectly. She brushed her thumb over the slit in the head and slowly pulled it away. A bead of pre-come stretched between his cock and her thumb, stickily supple. With her eyes on him, she licked her thumb like a lollipop.

Harry didn't think he'd ever seen anything so erotic in his life.

Her wet thumb glided over his head… only to be replaced by her tongue.

She lapped every inch of his cock like a damn lollipop again, leaving nothing untouched, not even his balls.

Delirious, he now understood why, this morning, Malfoy hinted that he should de-fuzz the tennis balls – no! Get the fuck out of my head, Malfoy!

Fortunately, this unwise interlude did nothing to deter Harry-down-under's performance. In fact, when Ginny opened her lovely, wet mouth and slid his cock inside, Harry-down-under put on a sterling job of not disgracing himself. Whereas Bigger Harry's knees buckled and he staggered a little when the mind-blowing sensation of Ginny's mouth sliding down and sucking up almost, well, blew his mind.

'Oh my fucking God, Ginny,' he moaned.

Even with a mouthful of cock, Ginny managed to smile mysteriously at him. She cupped his balls with her hand and squeezed with the lightest of touches.

Hoo boy, he thought.

Then she deep-throated him.

* * *

A roaring sound filled Harry's ears, and for a moment he thought he'd died and gone to wherever it is wizards go when they snuff it.

But Harry had not, in fact, snuffed it, happily for him. He was merely in receipt of the best, most intense, most hedonistic blow-job he'd received in his entire life.

Including from Pansy Parkinson, that pretender.

Saliva dripped from Ginny's mouth down his cock and over her fingers, making everything deliciously slick and slippery. The head of his cock was in Ginny's throat – he felt the cartilage rub over him. She was warm and wet and mother-fucking tight and oh shit, he was gonna lose it –

Ginny pulled him out of her throat, gasping, pulling her hair back with one hand.

'Gin,' Harry said hoarsely, 'if you keep doing that I'm going to come.'

She slowed the stroked of her hand a little. 'How long have we got?'

He checked his Muggle watch. 'Uh… about three and a half hours.'

'Excellent,' she said with a glint in her eye.

Then she swallowed him whole again.

'Ginny!' he warned, or moaned.

She paid him no mind.

After pulling him from her throat a second time, she tightened her grip and stroked hard and fast, sucking his cock hard and swirling her tongue around her favourite new toy. Harry wrapped her hair around his hand and stared in awe at her beautiful face. His hips spasmed, and the urge to fuck to her face nearly overwhelmed him.

May Merlin strike me dead if I hurt her…

Desperately holding himself back, he ground out her name, as if in pain.

She yanked him out of her mouth for a brief second and looked at him. 'Fuck me.'

His brain told him to slow down, but his body told him 'Are you fucking mental?' So, re-wrapping her hair around his hand, Harry braced himself and thrust into Ginny's mouth.

She took him in, relaxing her jaw and gripping his base with her hand, lest he get a teensy bit carried away.

The eerie, tingling, fucking sensational feeling of impending orgasm started in his feet and ballooned through his barely-coping body.

He stiffened, and barely suppressed a strangled shout as his orgasm hit him with the force of a freight train.

Ginny sucked him dry, swallowing over and again, loving his taste.

Harry managed to stay standing while Ginny languorously licked him clean. Then his knees said 'Good night, nurse!' and he ended up on the floor.

He stared at Ginny's lovely face and her lovely body, his chest heaving.

She self-consciously wiped her lips with his thumb.

'This has nothing to do with the blow-job, phenomenal as it was,' he murmured, 'but I love you, Goddammit.'

She threw back her head and laughed.

* * *

Harry gathered Ginny in his arms and laid her on top of the sumptuous bed. They were both a little out of breath, and they kissed light, breathless, butterfly kisses while Harry found his place, settling between her legs.

'I love you too,' she said shyly.

He grinned and rolled her over so she sprawled on top of him. 'Fancy a bath?'

She fanned her face. 'When I get my breath back, for sure.' Then she sobered. 'Should we talk about what happened at school?'

His initial reaction was 'Hell no,' but to give the ferret his due, he'd had an instrumental, if indirect, role in knocking Blaise out of her life. And he did provide this ball-breakingly amazing suite for them. And Blaise... was an enigma.

Oh, bugger it all.

'Sure, if you want to,' he said, stroking her lovely hair.

She blew a few stray wisps out of her way, and her kind brown eyes settled on his.

'I can't say Draco and I weren't lovers, because we were. In a physical sense. But we never connected emotionally. Even before he fell in love with Hermione.' Then her face grew sad and her gaze slide away. 'And as for Blaise…'

Harry gathered her body close. 'Ginny,' he said in a low voice, 'I don't care what's happened in the past. As of today, as of last week, as of the moment we first kissed, all that matters to me is you.'

She let that sink in. Then a rogue tear fell and landed on Harry's chest. She watched it pool, then follow gravity's path. Her eyelashes flickered, then she traced the path of her tear with her tongue.

Harry closed his eyes and felt his cock stir into life. 'You have me. Always.'

She threaded her fingers through his. 'You don't know how much that means to me,' she gulped.

They lay in each other's arms for a while.

* * *

After their bath, they were clean, refreshed, and jolly horny.

Harry was a traditionalist at heart, so he laid Ginny on the bed and moved over her. Languorously working his way down her body with his tongue, he arrived at the point he'd been fantasising about for a while: her luscious, soaking wet cunt, bordered by pretty red curls.

His manners deserted him, and he made rather a mess of himself, feasting on her delicious body. Each taste, each lash of his tongue over her rosy pink flesh sent shockwaves straight to his cock.

Eventually, he caved in. He had to have her, or shatter into a million pieces. She'd come twice so far, but he'd yet to fully explore her inside. Keeping a firm hold of her clitoris with his tongue, he slid a finger into her tight channel, eyes nearly rolling back in bliss.

'Oh Gods, more, Harry!' Ginny moaned, clutching his hair and rubbing up and down against his face.

Dear Christ, he thought, as he had to push rather hard to insert the second finger inside her. She'll be the death of me, and I don't care in the least.

Her body was almost thrumming with tense desire. He now knew this was a precursor to her orgasm. He scissored his fingers as wide as he could and thrust them measuredly in and out of her body. With one more lash to her clitoris –

Ginny's orgasm arched her off the bed, and she clamped her hands across her mouth to present a scream from bursting throughout the suite.

'The room's muffled,' Harry bit out, his cock so hard he could hardly bear it. 'If you want to scream, I want to hear it.'

She nodded, gasping for breath among the luxurious bedlinen.

Carefully, he positioned herself over her heaving body, locking eyes with hers.

'Gin' –

'Please don't talk,' she begged.

Harry entered her body – hot, wet, tight, mind-blowing – slowly, inch by agonising inch, until –

A barrier. Partial, but still.

Her face was determined, a little scared, but brave, all the same. Brushing her hair back from her face, he lowered his, and their lips brushed.

'Breathe in,' he whispered; and broke through.

* * *

The pain took her breath away at first, but she did her best to breathe in, breathe out. Harry stayed in place, conflicted; sore as hell at hurting her but wanting so damn hard to move, to thrust, to fuck –

'Are you okay, love?' he whispered.

She nodded bravely. 'Kiss me,' she whispered back.

He lowered his head and grazed her lips with his tongue; tasting, teasing. She opened her mouth and he slid inside – long, languorous licks that captured her tongue and traced her mouth and sipped, and –

Her core spasmed and she wound her legs around his waist. Her wide, desperate eyes told him everything he needed to know.

Harry surged inside her, and she wailed in delirium. He established a pattern that was brutal for all that it was measured – in-out-in-out-in-out and omigod she felt so good…

She gripped his shoulders and gasped out his name, over and over.

The end, when it shortly came, was simple and divine.

Divinely simple.

* * *

As for Hermione and Draco's afternoon at the movies?

Well. Fifty percent of them enjoyed it. The other fifty percent pretended to. But Hermione did enjoy watching Draco's enjoy the IMAX theatre experience.

They had a little time to kill afterwards, so they took a stroll around the nearby Jubilee Gardens. Hand in hand. The sun on their backs.

Simple pleasures.

Hermione almost felt bad when, making sure she had a reasonable grip on Draco's hand, she asked 'Why did Charlie take just the men to the pub?'

Draco prided himself on his poker face, but he had to admit he was a little scuppered by the timing of her question.

'Um' –

'The truth, please,' she said firmly.

He glared at her. 'And if I don't tell you?' he challenged.

She was perfectly prepared to use tears, but she preferred to keep them in reserve. 'I know you'd never behave so unkindly to me,' she pouted.

Oh, gods, he thought. The lower lip's out.

He sighed. 'The Weasel isn't on the road to redemption,' he said shortly. 'Charlie's struggling to handle him.'

With misgivings, he filled her in on the discussion.

When he finished, her eyes were wide and serious.

'Do you think the Auror will work?'

'It had better,' he said grimly. 'I'm really glad we'll be together at University.'

Hermione bristled. 'You don't think I can look after myself?'

He recalled her Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, at which she excelled, of course.

He stopped walking and drew her into his arms. 'I know you can,' he soothed. 'But it's also good to have someone by your side, right? Or even at your back?'

She relented. 'But out of anyone, you're the most at risk.' She sighed. 'I can't believe we're talking about Ron.'

He kissed her forehead. 'I'm glad you're on my team.'

They gently kissed. Hers lips tasted a little sad.

That made him a little sad, too.

* * *

 **A/N: Not sure I've written a Hinny lemon before. I'm at the point where I've written so many smut scenes I can't recall them all! Anyway, I hope this one was okay. As always, thanks for reading, and as for your reviews: nearly 900 submitted! TA2 could possibly out-review TA1 at this rate!**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Just a short chapter to wrap up The Burrow… forgive me, no lemons**

* * *

Back at The Burrow in time for tea, Draco attempted to explain the MooVee's plot, special effects and the overall wow-ness of an IMAX theatre experience to a fascinated Arthur and two confused twins. Hermione joined in from time to time when Draco couldn't remember the correct Muggle words. Harry and Ginny sat silently at the table, going through the mechanics of eating and drinking but in some sort of dopey daze that did not escape Molly's experienced eye.

'So,' she said, making that one syllable stretch so it could have easily accommodated fifteen, 'what did you and Harry do in the afternoon, Ginny dear?'

Trapped, Ginny looked at Harry, who looked at Draco, his green eyes telegraphing 'For fuck's sake, think of something!'

Draco's crystal-silver ones telegraphed back 'I've done enough for you today, mate. You're on your own.'

'We' – Harry began before his throat closed up. He took a long swig of Butterbeer, thinking frantically all the time. 'I mean, I took Ginny on a tour of Buckingham Palace.'

Molly looked blank.

'Where the Queen of England lives.'

Molly's face lit up. 'Ooh! Fancy that,' she said impressed. She directed her wand to pour some tea. 'Was she in?'

Harry avoided Draco's eye-roll. 'Uh, yes, but the tour doesn't go through the part of the Palace where she lives.'

'Oh, well, never mind,' Molly sympathised. 'So, Ginny dear, what part did you like best?'

Ginny gulped and glanced discreetly at Hermione and Draco, sitting opposite her. Ignoring Draco's smirk, she SOS'ed Hermione with her eyebrows.

Hermione wasn't a fan of lying, especially of lying to Molly, but they were all basically complicit in the knowledge of Harry and Ginny's dirty afternoon. And it wasn't like she and Draco could talk, what with their constant sneaking around behind her parents' back. So, in she went.

'You know, one of the things I liked best about Buckingham Palace was the Queen's Gallery,' she fake-gushed. 'What did you think of all of those beautiful paintings of kings and queens of old, Gin?'

Ginny nodded vigorously. 'Oh, those dresses were amazing! And the jewellery they wore – gosh, it was almost indecent! Oh, just thinking of those poor, poor people who didn't have enough to eat, yet just one of their pinky rings could have fed a starving family for years…'

'What are 'poor, poor people'? How can someone be poorer than poor?' Draco asked, amused.

Ginny rolled her eyes. 'I meant that the people were poor because they were poor – oh, forget it!' she snapped, as he started laughing.

Hermione made sure to reach that tender spot on Draco's ankle where she spiked him with her shoe earlier in the day. Over his yelp of pain, she said brightly 'And also the Royal Mews, where they keep the horses and carriages. That was fascinating, don't you agree?'

Harry did his bit, dredging up half-forgotten memories of a tour he went on with his primary school. 'Oh, yeah! The Queen's Gold State Carriage looked like it's made out of solid gold! Except for the bits where it's impractical, you know, like the wheels and seats and stuff.'

Draco sniffed. 'Gold is never impractical.'

'Oh, Lord.' Hermione slumped her hand on her chin.

'It was shameless, Mother!' Ginny added. 'But the horses were pretty.'

Hermione elbowed Draco, who narrowly avoided spilling Butterbeer on himself and said 'Oh, yeah. The horses were good. I liked the horses. I should see about getting some of them installed at Malfoy Manor.'

''Installed?' Hermione asked hotly. 'You don't 'install' horses! You need stables, and paddocks, and people to look after them' –

'The house-elves can look after them.'

Hermione shot to her feet, overturning her chair. 'Don't you dare subject your house-elves to more bloody work!'

'Rightio!' Arthur shouted cheerily over the din. 'How about we retire to the living room, eh? Sounds like you had a fascinating day, kids. I'm sure you're all desperate for some peace and quiet to unwind before bedtime.'

The 'kids' filed out of the kitchen after Arthur, Molly and the twins.

'Thank you,' Ginny said in an undertone to Hermione and Draco.

'What for?' Draco whispered innocently.

After Harry dragged Ginny off to the living room, Hermione wound her hand in Draco's and kissed his cheek. 'For helping Ginny and Harry out of a fix.'

He squeezed her hand. 'Yeah, well. It was embarrassing watching that pair try to lie. My baby cousin Teddy lies better than them. Even you do! Ow! Trim your damn fingernails, woman!'

* * *

 **Lights Out: Ginny and Hermione's room**

Hermione listened to Ginny's exaggerated sighs and tosses amongst her bedsheets with a wry smile. 'All right!' she said. 'I know you're dying to tell me, so tell me!'

Instead of hearing Ginny's usual hysterical giggling, Hermione received a long, long sigh of complete satisfaction.

'Oh. Wow,' was all Ginny could manage.

Hermione released a breath she didn't even know she was holding. 'I'm so glad, hon,' she smiled. 'So…?'

Ginny's voice could barely contain her laughter. 'So…. what?'

Hermione sat up in bed, her wand lighting her laughing face. 'You want to tell me, and you know I want to hear it. So get in this bed, young lady, and spill!'

The two girls talked, giggled and gasped long into the night…

* * *

 **Lights Out: Harry and Draco's room**

Draco: 'So…?'

Harry: 'Yeah, it was good. Um. Thanks for the room.'

Draco: 'No worries.'

Harry: 'Goodnight, then.'

Draco: 'Yep. Goodnight.'

* * *

And so, the time has come for Hermione and Draco to depart The Burrow for the exotic shores of Italy.

Number of times they had sex: one cramped, squeaky time

Number of articles of clothing purchased: two (or technically three, if you count a bra and panties separately)

Number of times Draco has seen or touched said bra and panties: zero, much to his seething regret

Number of deep and lasting male-male friendships forged: depends on whether you are Hermione: (one) or Draco (fuck off!)

Number of gnomes hurled over the hedge: 'Who cares?' Draco yodelled, 'I sent the most over! Me! I am the champion!'

* * *

Hermione and Ginny clung to each other and fervently kissed cheeks as Hermione and Draco prepared to Floo to the Ministry of Magic in order to pick up their Portkey to Italy. Harry and Draco eyed each other, shook hands briefly and quickly looked away in opposite directions.

Molly clasped each departing guest to her bosom. 'Oh, my dears, it was so lovely to have you here!' she gushed. 'I do so hope we'll see each other soon.'

'If Potter's knocked Red up, I'm sure that will be very soon,' Draco muttered before failing to dodge Hermione's sharp elbow to his ribs.

'Goodbye everyone! Thanks for having us!' Hermione cried, as she shoved Draco through the Floo first (she was catching on to his ways). Then she wiped some farewell tears from her eyes as the green flames swallowed her up.

* * *

 **A/N Short but sweet! Next chapter – sexy, sexy Italy with sexy, sexy Blaise!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I'm SO SORRY about the delay in updating. After a year of voluntary unemployment, I'm employed full-time again, which has soaked up a fair amount of my writing time.**

 **Also, I recently published** _ **Stopover**_ **on a website starting with the letter A, and the amount of work that goes into formatting and putting the book through their requirements is ENORMOUS, I tell you. Should you happen to be on that site, look for the author Natalie Fendalton (tee-hee!) and read the dedication page in the book sample – there's a message for you.**

 **And so, without further ado, back to Treacherous Affairs the Second!**

 **Recap: Draco and Hermione completed a week of holidays at The Burrow. Now they're off to spend a week with Blaise in Italy.**

 **Lemony deliciousness below! Tarte au citron, anyone?**

* * *

Draco and Hermione Flooed to the Ministry of Magic, where they picked up their Portkey that would take them to the Ministry's equivalent in Rome. In the blink of an eye, they found themselves in the atrium of a gorgeous marbled establishment, where crowds of beautiful people in robes dramatically shouted and gesticulated, even if it was to someone standing right next to them. Far too many men appreciated Hermione's lovely form for Draco's comfort.

Oblivious to Draco's inner seething, she led them to the large bank of Floos that stood alongside one wall of the light and airy atrium. She gazed at the frescoes, moving statues and soaring domed ceiling with stars in her eyes. 'It's so beautiful, don't you think?' she breathed.

Draco, however, only had eyes for the merry band of young wizards who were standing nearby, nodding and grinning at Hermione's cut-off denim shorts (that showed a hell of a lot of leg), and loose-shouldered t-shirt, through which a lovely little peep of tanned flesh winked. 'Yeah, yeah, it's an ocular feast. Now will you hurry up and get in the Floo?'

'What's the matter?' Hermione asked, astounded, finding herself being hustled into one of the fireplaces.

'Nothing. Just go!'

Perplexed, Hermione nevertheless grabbed some Floo powder and called out 'Casa Farfalla!'

Once Draco was certain Hermione had left this orgy-pit of perverts behind, he stepped into the Floo she vacated and repeated the destination. Just before the green smoke obscured him, he treated the leering lotharios to a hand gesture that was well-known across European borders. Even Wizarding ones.

Their resounding laughter was the last thing he heard before the Floo yanked him away.

* * *

The Zabinis lived in a jaw-droppingly beautiful villa in the town of Lucca, Tuscany. At least, that's where they were living while Blaise's mum was married to Antonio, the villa's owner.

It was situated high up on a stone cliff overlooking the town, and was partially carved into the cliff itself. The Floo, being a centrepiece of magic that Muggles really shouldn't see, was located in the subterranean basement, which was carved directly out of the rock.

When Hermione emerged, blinking, from the Floo, she thought she'd stepped into a limestone cave, albeit one with a dashed-pebble polished concrete floor and beautiful biscuit-coloured exposed rock walls and ceiling. Torches on wall sconces threw light and shadow on the beautiful features.

A tall, nervous-looking young man with beautiful dark skin, shown off to perfection in a tight white t-shirt and blue swim shorts, leaned against the arched entranceway.

'Granger,' Blaise said uneasily, glancing at his bare feet before forcing himself to look up. 'I-I didn't get the chance to apologise before I left Hog – oof!'

The breath was knocked out of him as Hermione, dropping her bag to the ground, dashed across the floor to wrap her arms around his neck and hold him tight. He staggered and enveloped his arms around her waist before he toppled over and took her with him.

'It doesn't matter anymore, Blaise,' she said fervently into his t-shirt. 'Please say we can be friends again?'

'Really?' he asked, leaning back and looking into Hermione's shining eyes. 'Of course we bloody can!'

She laughed, but was interrupted by a pissed-off voice that bounced off the floor and walls. 'For Salazar's sake, Zabini! It hasn't even been a minute and you're already pawing at my girlfriend!'

Hermione rolled her eyes and stepped to the side. Blaise gulped and raised his hands in surrender as Draco stomped angrily towards him. The two young men eyeballed each other – before Draco grinned and opened his arms. Blaise laughed, and they hugged briefly, but fiercely.

Hermione permitted herself another eye-roll. 'Children,' she muttered.

* * *

She collected her bag and followed Blaise out of the basement, her hand linked with Draco's. Antonio was a magical architect, Blaise said, and built this house as an example of how architecture, magic, Muggle-ism and the environment can seamlessly blend together. Or something like that.

Hermione was entranced. Draco was unimpressed.

The cliff's stone walls were a major feature of the multi-level house. The rooms were large and airy, again with polished concrete floors and acres and acres of glass windows. They were imbued with a nifty little solution that meant any visiting Muggles could look in the windows and 'see' a perfectly normal Muggle family doing Muggle things.

'It's a bit modern, mate,' Draco said dubiously.

Blaise shrugged non-committally as he led them up the gigantic flight of stairs.

'I think it's beautiful,' Hermione said firmly.

Draco screwed up his nose. 'Too modern.'

'Oh, you and your new money snobbery!'

Blaise smirked. 'Trouble in paradise already?' he whispered to Draco.

Draco fixed him with a knowing look. 'She's... 'passionate' about stuff,' he replied idly. 'You remember passion, right? Or is your relationship with your hand too old and stale?'

Blaise snorted. 'Touché. Actually' –

'Will you two hurry up?' Hermione demanded, leaning over the bannister. 'Don't make me come down there and get you.'

Blaise missed the glint in Draco's eye as followed his lover up the stairs.

* * *

Antonio's house had half a dozen large bedrooms, each with its own bathroom. Blaise stopped outside the third closed door along a hallway that was dotted with original minimalist artworks that Hermione supposed were probably each worth the same value as her parents' house.

How do Slytherins end up with so much money? she wondered. She made a mental note to commence a research project.

Blaise opened the door, and Draco and Hermione peered in.

'So, this is your room, guys. The bathroom's behind that door on the right. The remote for the TV is in one of the bedside tables' –

'Um, are we both allowed to stay in the same room?' Hermione asked cautiously.

Blaise stared at her. 'Of course you are!' he said, perplexed. 'Why on earth wouldn't you?'

'Long story,' Draco muttered.

Blaise shrugged and turned away from the door. 'So, if you want to drop your stuff off in there, I'll show you the rest of the' –

 _Click!_

Blaise turned around. All that was in front of him was a closed bedroom door.

The door opened a crack, and Draco poked his head out. His impeccable head of hair was dishevelled, and Blaise thought he saw some gloss on Draco's lips that Hermione was wearing a few seconds ago.

'We might be a few minutes,' Draco said before closing the door in Blaise's face.

He blinked.

The door opened again. Draco's shirt was unbuttoned and hanging off one shoulder. 'We might be a little more than a few minutes,' he amended before closing the door again.

Blaise waited another moment.

The door opened for a third time. This time, Draco was shirtless and his jeans were around his knees. 'Um, we'll catch you up later,' he said before the door closed of its own accord. Blaise heard Hermione's soft giggle just before it shut.

He smirked at the door and cast a silencing spell around it before ambling off.

* * *

Draco thrust his cock hard into Hermione's body, swallowing her wail of need with his mouth. He fucked her up against the door with a lot of urgency and little finesse. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and her legs were cinched tight around his toned waist. She breathed harshly into Draco's ear, begging, demanding more, her pussy becoming wetter with each stroke he made.

'Gods, love, I'm not going to last long,' he gritted, throwing everything he had behind each deep thrust. Their flesh slapped wetly each time they joined together.

'Me neither,' Hermione moaned. 'I need to come Draco, make me come...'

Draco groaned and put an Olympic effort in behind each surge in her tight, wet cunt. His balls were practically fizzing with delight and his thighs started to shake.

'Hermione' – he bit out. He couldn't hold back. He was too far gone and too deliriously near the point of no return. For the first time since he was fourteen, he might even disgrace himself and orgasm before his lover did.

But Hermione saved him from his nightmare coming true. 'Yes, omigod yes omigod yes omigod YES!' she wailed, grinding her core hard against him and trembling bodily with the force of her orgasm.

'FUCK YES!' Draco hollered to the bedroom ceiling, practically levitating off the ground as his orgasm burst from his body and into hers.

They moaned and thrusted and ground against each other until they were spent.

Draco propped Hermione against the door, breathing hard. 'I love you so fucking much, Hermione Granger,' he whispered, learning his forehead against hers.

'I – love – you – too,' she puffed, smiling.

They slowly slid down the door onto the luxurious latte-coloured carpet.

* * *

 **Ten minutes later, still on the floor**

'Do you think we should find Blaise?' Hermione asked, licking Draco's earlobe before drawing it into her mouth.

'Hell, no!' he moaned.

Hermione peered south, and a slow smile spread across her lips. 'Excellent recovery time, Batman.'

'Who the hell is Batman?'

'Just take me to bed and fuck me again, okay?'

* * *

They were both still antsy from the lack of contact the past week, and they needed to fuck. Slow, romantic, multiple-orgasmic love-making sessions could wait. All they needed was a big, hard cock pounding into tight, wet heat, over and over.

Draco sank his hard length into Hermione's pussy from behind, gripping her hips and thrusting in deep. On her hands and knees, Hermione moaned low in her throat and pressed back against him, demanding more.

'Harder, love?' he panted, not dropping a beat.

'Yes!' she begged. 'Make me feel you...'

Draco reached across her back and wrapped her hair around his hand. Pulling her head back with it to expose her throat, he built up his pace. 'Like it, darling?" he whispered.

'Oh my God, Draco...' she gasped, 'I love it!'

Hmm, Draco pondered, while diligently seeing to Hermione's pre-orgasmic needs. Perhaps Ms Granger tends towards the submissive? He continued to surge in and out of her delicious pussy while he caressed her throat with his free hand.

'Yes...' she moaned.

He let go of her hair and wrapped both hands around her throat – holding, but not gripping. He pulled his arms back, forcing Hermione to move from her hands and knees into a kneeling position, her back swayed in order to keep Draco's gorgeous cock trapped inside her.

He put his lips to her ear. 'You're under my control now,' he whispered.

'I'm – I'm so turned on, I don't understand it,' she moaned.

He tightened his fingers around her throat a merest fraction. She keened.

'Why, indeed?' he gritted. Gods above, this woman will be the death of me – but I'll die with a huge smile on my face, that's for sure. 'A pinch more pressure from my fingers and I could kill you.'

'You could - but you won't,' she gasped, her pussy almost in a flood. 'I trust you to find my limits. My heart, my soul... I trust you with everything I have, Draco.'

Her words branded him. The orgasm he'd shoved to the back of his mind came roaring through his consciousness, and his cock throbbed unbearably. Hermione's body clenched around it and she gasped out his name over and over.

They orgasmed together, feeding off each other until they were utterly emptied out.

Hermione sank slowly onto the bed and Draco followed, grabbing his wand to conduct the practicalities. Then he drew her body close, so they were almost touching noses.

'Having your trust means the world to me,' he murmured. 'You mean the world to me.'

She smiled at him. Words weren't necessary.

Draco watched her fall asleep, and once again thanked Merlin for every day that led to this moment.

* * *

 **A/N Sorry it's a bit short, but I wanted to put something up for you. Hope you liked it.**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N Please forgive me again, it's not a big long chapter. But I'd rather update in smaller doses rather than hang on to a larger chapter and update once every 4-6 weeks, or something awful like that.**

 **Thanks so much to everyone who read and especially followed, favourited and reviewed chapter 18! I had a smile on my face from your kind comments. It really made me glad that I discovered fanfiction and that my stories are being enjoyed by you all.**

 **Ch 18 was a comedy; ch 19 is a drama.**

* * *

After Draco and Hermione's bouts of 'exercise,' shall we say, they both dozed off in each other's arms. Draco came to about half an hour later, refreshed after his power nap, but Hermione was still sprawled on the bed, her chest rising and falling evenly.

Wrenching his eyes away from her tempting body, Draco silently got up and changed into swimming shorts. Summoning a towel and his sunglasses, he headed to the bedroom door and opened it. With one last, wistful glance at Hermione's breasts, he left the bedroom and headed downstairs, then outdoors.

Stepping outdoors onto the stone deck, Draco was impressed by the beautiful scene. A serene infinity pool was built out of a flat chunk of the cliff, giving you the impression, once you were in the water, that you could literally swim off the edge of the cliff and fall into the town below.

The town itself was nestled in the valley between the cliff the house was on, and a large mountain range on the other side of the town. Being summer, the mountains and valley were lushfully brush-stroked with shades of green. The town's buildings were predominantly white stone with terracotta roofs, aside from a cluster of glass-fronted multi-level buildings in the town's centre.

Draco was used to riches and opulence, but even he had to admit that a view like this could take you places.

Blaise was lounging in a deck chair, reading some pre-Wizengamot law material. A bottle of beer sat by his side. Seeing Draco approach, he looked over his sunglasses and smirked.

'Finished rocking the casbah, have we?'

Draco occupied the deck chair next to him, while Blaise summoned a house elf. 'I have no idea what you mean, but I'll take an educated guess and respond with 'None of your fucking business, mate.' Then he grinned, accepting a beer that popped into view alongside the house-elf that was holding it. 'Hermione's still worn out.'

Blaise shook his head, smiling. 'It took me a little while to get my head around it,' he admitted, 'but you and she do make sense. Your intellects are similar, and your personalities complement each other, now that the bullying and arguing and all that carry-on's finished.'

Draco wasn't proud of the bullying, he admitted. To himself. But – 'We still engage in healthy debates from time to time,' he drawled.

He took an appreciative sip of his Peroni _Gran Riserva Doppio Molto_ beer, a Roman tipple that Blaise personally found strange, with its mixed taste of malt, caramel and fruit. Oh, well. Each to their own.

He himself glanced somewhat lustily at his own bottle of Forst, a light beer with the floral taste of hops and tea leaves.

'I'm sure,' Blaise replied dryly to Draco's comment. Then he sighed, leaned forward and played with the label on his beer bottle. 'And to think, if I hadn't returned to the Heads' Dorm when I did on that shitty day, she could have died.'

Draco wrinkled his pristine brow. He must have mis-heard. 'What was that you just said?' he asked slowly.

Still looking at his bottle, Blaise mindlessly repeated 'If I hadn't returned to the Head's Dorm when I did, Hermione would have died.'

He never heard Draco approach.

Blaise's bottle fell from his surprised hands and smashed onto the patio as Draco grabbed the front of his t-shirt and hauled him bodily off the deckchair. Startled, Blaise looked up and found a taut, white face and a pair of eyes sparking with a just-barely-suppressed combination of rage and fear.

'What the ever-lasting fuck are you talking about?' he snapped.

Hell, Blaise thought with a sinking heart. Hermione hadn't told him.

He tried to prise Draco's hands off his shirt, but he was immovable. Raising his hands in surrender (for the second time today, he noted) he schooled his voice and calmly said 'Look, you need to talk to Hermione' –

'Fuck that!' Draco spat. 'Stop dodging and tell me everything. Now!'

With an effort, Blaise wrenched Draco's hands away from his shirt and stumbled back. He swallowed. 'After my detention from attacking you in the Hall' – he glanced at Draco, who waved his hand impatiently – 'I went up to the Head dorm and... and I found her in the bath. Her skin was blue. She was unconscious. I pulled her out of the bath and dried her off and tried to warm her with spells, but she was just so fucking cold, and' -

He stopped and breathed in hard. Reliving this was hell.

Draco was having none of it. He shoved Blaise hard in his chest with both hands, not caring whether he caused his friend pain. 'Then what? What the fuck happened?'

Blaise's put-upon temper finally flared. 'You want to know? Fine! I put her under the bedsheets. Then I took off my fuckling clothes, climbed into the bed and wrapped my naked body around hers! I held her tight and prayed that she would live! All right? Are you satisfied?'

Draco levelled his caustic gaze at Blaise. 'Not even close. What. Happened. Next?'

Blaise turned away and looked at the late-afternoon sun, spreading rose-gold tendrils over the Tuscan landscape. 'I fell asleep. She came to. I woke, and I was so damn relieved that she was okay that I cried, you wanker! She held me, and when I was done crying, I kissed her. I tried to make her mine!'

Silence.

Blaise turned back and faced Draco.

Yeah. He probably should have stopped talking two sentences ago.

Draco's entire body was so rigid, it was almost vibrating. His clenched hands were shaking. His face was white, apart from two splotches of an ugly red colour high on his cheekbones. His eyes looked like two chunks of burning stone set deep in his head, and he was snarling. Literally snarling - curled lip and everything.

'You were in bed, naked, with Hermione, and you fucking came on to her?' His last words were shouted out so loudly that Blaise wouldn't have been surprised if everyone in the town heard them.

Blaise held up a conciliatory hand. Again. 'Draco, nothing hap' –

Draco spun on his heel and sprinted into the house, heading for the bedrooms.

Oh hell, Blaise thought, patting his pockets for his wand. Damn. He must have left it inside. Probably doesn't matter. At the rate Draco was running, he'd outpace Blaise's warning _Patronus_ to Hermione,anyway.

There was nothing for it but to tear after him and hope that his friend would remember that he was raised to be a gentleman, and that hitting a woman was the lowest, scummiest thing he could ever do.

* * *

When Hermione woke later that afternoon, she was alone. She stretched, and dithered between having a shower before climbing into her swimsuit, or, considering that she was planning to go for a swim, not bother. But her cheeks turned pink when she thought about the time she spent with Draco earlier, and decided a shower might be best.

Her jaw hit the floor when she opened the bathroom door. Facing her was a wall completely carved from the cliff rock, with glass panes making up the other three sides of a large rainfall shower. There was a bath too, an ordinary rectangular one, but it was sunk into the terracotta tiles so that it was flush with the floor. Awed, she reached into the shower and turned the water on. It sparkled as it fell onto the rock and pooled on the polished concrete floor. She stepped in and sighed in happiness, letting the water soothe her sore-but-happy muscles.

She was still in the bathroom, her hearing muffled by an enormous towel that she was drying her hair with when the bedroom door slammed open. 'Hermione!'

She rubbed at her hair, then stood upright and pulled the towel away from her head.

'Hermione! Where the fuck are you?'

Omigod. She paled. She'd never heard Draco so angry before. What on earth happened?

She eased the bathroom door open. 'I'm here,' she said cautiously. He looked, for the first time, even more frightening than Lucius, and adrenalin began to build in her body. She felt like a traitor for it, despite her growing fear.

He stared at her, standing in the frame of the bathroom door. She was wearing her denim cut-offs and a bikini top. Her damp hair curled around her shoulders. Her eyes were wide and she was nervously biting her lip. As far as Draco was concerned, she looked like every man's wet dream personified.

He took an energised step towards her, but made himself stop when she noticeably stiffened.

'Blaise told me what happened to you after those letters arrived at the Great Hall and you left,' he said, biting off each word.

She was still trying to wrench her mind back to the appropriate day and time when he spat 'The bath, Hermione! He said he found you in the bath, unconscious, with your skin turned blue!'

And suddenly, that horrible day came roaring back to her.

She remembered feeling confused, then betrayed. Humiliated. Torn between never wanting to see him again but still holding out a hope that he'll say it's okay, there's a reasonable explanation –

But then, he said sorry, with such a wretched expression on his face.

She can't even recall how she got to the Head's Dorm. Or why she was sitting in the bath at all. She just remembered slowly let herself become numb. Feeling numb was good. Numb didn't hurt.

Then there was an expanse of nothingness in her head, until she woke up, and found herself in Blaise's arms.

Her eyes widened. Is that what Draco's so angry about? Gods. It wasn't something she wanted to discuss while she didn't know whether to continue being with him. And with the duel and the drama that followed, she just forgot about it.

And now, obviously, he knows. And he looks like he's about to smash their bedroom window with his bare fists.

'Nothing happened,' she croaked. 'I promise.'

Draco looked at her as if she was insane. 'NOTHING HAPPENED?' he roared, incensed. 'I find out, months after the fact, what actually happened, and you brush it off as if it's not a big deal?' He gripped his head, like he was trying to stop the screams inside them from bursting out. 'What the fuck is wrong with you?'

Hermione saw Blaise arrive at the bedroom door, his wand drawn but pointed at the ground. She didn't want Draco to be magically subdued if she could help it, and signalled with her tear-filled eyes to stay where he was. Blaise nodded shortly, but was perfectly happy to break his word if Draco threatened her. Face dark, he watched him agitatedly pace the room.

'Draco' – she tried before tears stopped her throat. She took a breath and worked around them. 'I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Blaise. It was just one kiss, and we both agreed that a relationship would never work out. But please don't forget, he saved my life' -

He unclutched his hands, and looked up. His eyes were red-rimmed and his throat worked hard to swallow something that that was clearly causing him pain. 'I don't care that you kissed!' he croaked. 'I don't care that you were naked in bed together. I wouldn't have cared if you sucked his cock and fucked him raw! Don't you get it? YOU NEARLY DIED!'

Those three words were soaked in agony and desolation. Not rage.

Hermione reeled, not from the words, but from the tear that slid down his face.

'You nearly died, Hermione,' he scratched out in a broken voice. 'And I had no... fucking... idea.'

Glancing briefly at Blaise, she ran to Draco. She wrapped her arms around him, and wished she could climb into his very body, to convince him that she was here for him; he didn't have to deal with this awful shock on his own.

'I'm here now,' she whispered. 'Yours, always.'

His arms, which until then didn't know what to do with themselves, jerked into life and wrapped around her body. He clung to her.

Then he broke down and cried.

* * *

Blaise turned away from the gut-wrenching scene and quietly closed the door. He stumbled down the hall to his bedroom, walked into the shower and turned the water on. Still clothed, he slumped down on the floor, leaning against the exposed rock, pretending that the wetness on his face came from the tepid water above.

* * *

Hermione felt helpless, wretched, watching someone she'd always known to be strong, confident and arrogant now shudder silently in her arms. She pulled him to the bed and climbed on with him, pulling his body to hers and letting his shock and grief take its course. Her heart ached for him, so much that she wasn't sure how much more she could endure before she broke and begged him to stop.

She tried to think how it would feel if she found out that Draco had died, and she hadn't had the chance to hold him once last time and say goodbye –

In Godric's name, she couldn't even complete that thought.

If she could hardly bear it, she realised with a pang; how could he?

At length, his tense muscles slowly eased, and the tears that fell on to her shoulder stopped. Still, it was some time before he could bring himself to hold up his head.

Releasing her, he rubbed tiredly at his face. Inappropriately, Hermione moaned to herself 'How come when I cry, my face goes bright red and my eyes go all red and puffy; yet when he cries, he just looks like a marble statue? That is so unfair!'

'When Blaise told me what happened, I'd never felt so much pain in my heart before,' he said tiredly. 'The thought of you so close to death was bad enough. But to find out that all this happened and I had no idea' – he swallowed. 'I couldn't bear it.'

He rested a hand on hers. 'I can't bear the thought of being without you.'

She held his hand and scooched over so she was close to him. 'I feel the same way about you,' she whispered. 'I've wanted you since the moment we first kissed, but now I know that I need you, too.'

Draco nodded, and looked out of the bedroom's floor-to-ceiling window for a moment. Turning back to her, his face was determined, but serene. 'I'm going to ask you to marry me,' he said.

Hermione felt like she'd been punched in her solar plexus.

'Not now,' he admitted. 'But I will. I want you to be ready when I do.'

Hermione considered his words, so quintessentially Draco – arrogant, assuming, (very nearly) demanding – but also romantic, intense and sexy. She smiled. 'You realise you've gotten my hopes up, now. I'll expect a splendid proposal, and nothing less.'

Draco's face split into a smile, and her joyous relief, he laughed.

She took his hand. 'Come on, I haven't seen the pool yet' –

'Pools.'

She boggled at him. 'There's more than one pool?'

'Yup – the main pool, I guess you'd say, and one around the side for swimming laps, Blaise said.'

'Uh...' she stuttered, ... 'right – pools, and you probably need to talk to Blaise. He looked like he was about to _Petrificus_ you, earlier.'

He half-pouted. 'Can't we stay here for a bit longer?' he wheedled, brushing a patrician finger across her bikini top, right over her nipples.

'You can if you want!' Hermione sang out, skipping to the door. 'But I, for one, have had enough of this room for now.'

Draco sighed, but he followed her out, watching her hips in her cut-off shorts swing this way and that.

* * *

 **A/N: an almost-proposal, eh? A new character will be introduced in chapter 20! Please stay tuned.**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N I think from now on, you can all assume that I'll start each chapter with an unwritten apology for how late the update is. I hope I'll pick the pace up. I seriously do.**

 **Meanwhile, here is chapter 20, with a new character (well done LightofEvolution for guessing correctly!) and a nice, big, fat citrusy lemon.**

* * *

Hermione and Draco made their way down to the pool. She was struck dumb by the beautiful setting, and the amazing view of the town and mountains. After inspecting, rather gingerly, how the infinity pool actually worked, she floated on her back in the serene, sun-warmed water and wondered how the hell she ended up here.

Movement by the door that led from the kitchen caught her eye, and when she saw Blaise head outside, she swam over to the edge and hopped out.

Draco, who'd been reading a university textbook with mediocre enthusiasm, got up from his deckchair and joined her.

'Blaise' – they started together, before looking askance at each other.

Blaise took the opportunity. 'Are you two still together?' he asked.

'Yeah, but' –

'Malfoy, are you still mad at me?'

'No! I never' –

'Does everyone know and understand exactly what happened that day?'

'Yes! Blaise' –

'In that case,' Blaise grinned, 'last one in's a rotten goblin!'

And with that, he cannonballed into the pool.

Draco and Hermione looked at each other, shrugged and leapt in after him.

* * *

'Anyway, as I was trying to tell Malfoy before,' Blaise said, a while later, 'a friend of mine is coming up from the town to join us for dinner.'

Hermione peered over the lip of her beer bottle. 'A lady friend or a man friend?'

Blaise looked both coy and inscrutable behind his sunglasses. 'That would be a lady friend, Ms Granger.'

Draco finished scowling at his textbook and cracked open a beer of his own. 'Is she... magical?' he asked delicately. Pretending to be a Muggle around Muggles was easy for Hermione, since she lived in their community, but Draco still found that he had to get his head sorted out before he could pull it off, too. Despite the extensive practical exercises he'd had over the summer.

'She is,' Blaise replied. 'Giorgia went to Beaubatons and graduated the same time we did. She's going to study Wizengamot law, too – that's how we met. We were getting the same course books. When we discovered we were also practically neighbours, it just seemed like fate.'

'Aww,' cooed Hermione.

Draco rolled his eyes. 'That's all very lovely, but you've forgotten the most important part.'

'Which is?' Blaise drawled.

'How big are her tits?'

'DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY!'

'Wow, love!' Draco said, impressed. 'You sound almost exactly like my Mum.'

* * *

They looked to be a medium size, was Draco's private (and discreet) assessment, later.

Giorgia was a pleasant and vibrant young lady with sleek, straight, long black hair and a full fringe over deep violet eyes. In one of her new dresses, a knee-length patterned halter-top, Hermione looked at Giorgia's lovely hair and slim body and sighed a little sadly. Until Draco put his arm around her shoulders and whispered 'She can never be you, and never will be.'

Then she felt ridiculously happy to have fallen in love with a Malfoy.

* * *

Giorgia was gently grilled over _panzanella_ , a bread salad with tomato, onions, basil and olive oil. Then she was subjected to a light interrogation over _Tordelli di Lucchesi_ , a local specialty pasta filled with chard, pine nuts, raisins and parmesan, served with a sauce of many meats. And over _necci_ , crepes made with sweet chestnut flour, Draco and Hermione decided that Blaise and Giorgia were a heavenly, perfect match for each other.

Certainly an improvement on Head Snakess Pansy Parkinson.

After that wonderful meal, Draco and Hermione took advantage of the late-setting sun to explore the villa's craggy surroundings. Slowly, they wandered around the property, which included a separate guesthouse, the lap pool, as Draco mentioned earlier, and a steep, tottery path up the grassy hill behind the house, where they sat and watched the town and surrounding countryside turn golden-pink.

It was lovely, but Hermione's teeth started to worry her bottom lip.

Draco pulled her poor lip free with his own. 'Tell me.'

She blushed. 'You'll probably think it's dumb.'

He shook his head. 'I won't think it's dumb. Or at least,' he amended, 'I won't tell you if I think it's dumb.'

She snorted.

'And here I was, thinking you'd appreciate my honesty!'

She looked at him, then laughed, shaking her head.

He touched her nose. 'There's that smile I love.'

She took his hand. 'This has been an amazing holiday,' she started, before eye-rolling Draco's vehement exclamation to the negative. 'Do you always think about sex?'

'It's such a nice thing to think about!'

Ignoring him, she looked out over the township and murmured 'Maybe I know that when we start university, this life stops and a more mundane one begins. Maybe I'm disappointed that this won't stay the same, and not worried that something bad is going to happen.'

Draco didn't know how to reply to that. Well. He had replies; lots; but all of them would result in Hermione storming off in a huff, so he just brushed a curl from her cheek and kept his counsel.

He was finding that putting her feelings before his was getting easier every day.

* * *

It was starting to get dark, and broken ankles were not on Draco's amusement list tonight, so they carefully scrambled back down to terra firma, wending their way around the back of the property, which took them to a natural terrace that jutted above the main pool, where the industrious Antonio had carved (or had carved for him) a wide and over-tall stone seat where a couple could sit and slowly bake themselves brown under the sun – were it not for a Muggle shade sail plonked overhead. Draco led Hermione to this surprising throne, and she relaxed against his warm body, watching the stars blink one by one into the gloaming.

She was drowsily counting stars and enjoying the feel of Draco's fingers in her hair when she heard a splash.

'Oh! Blaise! You naughty man!'

This was followed by a low laugh. 'Honey, you haven't seen naughty yet.'

'I want my bikini top back!'

There was a whooshing splash, which Hermione recognised as the sound of bodies breaking free of the pool's water.

'Hand it over!' Giorgia's laughing voice demanded, before she suddenly cut off. A woman's moan carried up to the couple above.

Hermione's surprised eyes met Draco's smirking ones. 'Should we announce ourselves?' she mouthed. 'Or go?'

Draco's hand tightened a little around the nape of her neck. 'Now, why would we do that?' he asked. His silver eyes gleamed.

She blinked. 'Because it sounds like they're going to' –

'Make out?' Draco's lips traced the edge of her jaw. 'Have sex?'

'W-well, maybe... er, yes, um' – Hermione's concentration was a little scattered.

'I'm quite comfortable here,' Draco breathed, before his lips closed on her pulse and his thumbs brushed over her breasts, so delicately that she wasn't sure if she imagined it.

'Comfortable?' Hermione's whisper wobbled. 'We're sitting on a slab of stone.'

'Ah. Good point. The grass overlooking the pool is much more inviting.'

'Dra' – Hermione's hushed reproval was cut off when Draco pulled her towards him and kissed her hungrily.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and the tinge of embarrassment she initially felt at overhearing the couple below them gave way. In fact, she had to admit (not that she would) that Blaise's murmured Italian and Giorgia's hitched breaths and moans magnified her own lust for Draco.

She could see that it affected him, too – and feel it, when she brushed her hand over the front of his shorts.

He clamped his hand over hers, and (with a little difficulty) climbed off the stone chair, holding his hand out to take hers.

Once they were on the grass, he kissed her hair, untying the halter from her dress. He swallowed her gasp with the evening air clutched at her naked breasts, revealed as the dress fluttered to the ground. His t-shirt joined it; then his hands kept her warm.

In the glare of the pool lights, Draco's eyes glinted. 'Do you want to watch?' he whispered.

Hermione's eyes skittered to the edge of the grass, then back at him. 'You...' Her throat dried up.

His fingers drew mesmerising circles on her breasts. 'Granger,' he grinned, 'you've never watched a couple have sex before?'

She supposed it wouldn't have been too hard to catch Ron and Lavender at it when she still lived in the Gryffindor dorms, but the thought of her made her toes clutch the dry grass. 'You have, I presume?'

His slow grin should have annoyed her, but it just made her panties superfluous to requirements.

She shivered, but she wasn't cold. He put his lips to her ear.

'In our dorms, if someone brought a girl back, the unwritten rule was he'd cast a _Muffliato_ and we'd close the curtains to our beds. But if the girl in question wasn't the sharpest tool in Professor Sprout's potting shed; or she was 'distracted'' – he gently nipped Hermione's ear – 'the charm wouldn't be completed. And sometimes the curtains may not have closed themselves all the way.'

'Perverts!' Hermione hissed, albeit with a gleam in her eye.

'No, no, love. 'Teenage boys.''

He held out his hand, and led her to the edge of the grass overhang, staying out of the lights. They lay down on their stomachs, rested their heads on their forearms, and looked down.

* * *

Giorgia was naked now, writhing on one of the deckchairs with her legs crudely spread. Her firm breasts heaved up and down with each gasp and moan she uttered. Blaise knelt at the front of the chair, his arms anchoring her thighs. He'd parted her pretty folds with his fingers, and was plunging his tongue deep into her soaking pussy, over and over, while he watched her resolve crumble to dust.

Hermione's pulse raced and her heart thumped so hard she was almost certain the lovers below her would hear. Gradually, however, her embarrassment ebbed, to be replaced by something that was no doubt also responsible for the smouldering gaze in Draco's eyes as he watched in silence.

' _Basta, por favore!'_ the girl begged, her fingers gripping the sides of the deckchair so hard they'd turned white.

Blaise laughed, a low chuckle that had Hermione's insides clenching; then tingling. 'You'll know when you've had enough, _amore_.' Then he captured her clitoris between his lips as he speared two fingers inside her.

Giorgia howled, clutching the top of Blaise's head with one hand while her body visibly trembled.

He broke free of her clitoris and watched her as he ruthlessly plunged his fingers in and out of her cunt, whispering words that Hermione could only guess at. Head whirling, she thought back to the time in London when Draco made her come this way. She rubbed her thighs together, watching with rapt attention to the scene below. It was obvious that Blaise was just as skilled a lover as Draco was.

Giorgia sounded like she was sobbing – craving more but wanting release all at the same time. Blaise's name fell from her lips like a prayer. And just when Hermione couldn't see how the girl below could bear it any longer, her upper body torqued off the deckchair and liquid spurted unashamedly from between her legs as she cried out in release.

Blaise continued his stimulation, uncaring of the drenching his arm received. He whispered to her, smiling, as he brought her back down to earth.

Then, he stood up, naked.

Draco clamped a hand over Hermione's mouth, but her soft gasp had already escaped into the world. Cringing, she pulled back, but she couldn't stay away for long. Dazedly, she peered over the edge again at Blaise's erection.

She could not literally find the words.

'Big, isn't he?' Draco whispered casually.

'B-big...' she repeated with numb lips. 'H-how... she... huh?'

Draco grinned and edged closer to her. 'Watch and learn.'

She turned her gaze back to the performance below, but started when she felt Draco's hand ghost down her back and over bottom. Turning her head, she saw that Draco's eyes weren't focussed on the lovers; they were on her.

She lifted her hips.

He grinned; and peeled her panties down her legs.

'Enjoying yourself, I see?' he asked, dropping light kisses down her back as his skilful fingers parted the cleft of her buttocks and slid down to her core. She heard, as well as felt, his finger slide effortlessly into her pussy.

'Shh. Not a sound,' he whispered.

Trembling, she turned her attention back to the couple.

* * *

Giorgia applied a cushioning charm to the deck chair, then sat down on it again, one long leg on each side. Her fingers plunged inside her body as she watched Blaise apply lubricant to his erection.

Task complete, he took a step towards her – but hesitated.

Giorgia smiled, and beckoned him closer. _'Ti voglio,'_ she whispered.

'I want you too,' he replied in a low voice.

She lay back on the deckchair, reaching out to clasp his face and kiss him. She plunged her tongue into his mouth just as entered her hot, wet, willing pussy.

Gasping, she broke the kiss. 'Omigod you feel so good!' She clutched at Blaise's dark shoulders, pulling him closer as her pale legs snaked around his hips.

He started to move.

Draco watched Hermione's face as she played the voyeur.

This time last year, he would have explained away the look of fierce concentration as just that – shutting out all other distractions and applying tunnel vision to the task or lesson at hand.

But he knew she wasn't exclusively focussed on the 'lesson' below. Part of her was concentrating on the sensations he was building inside her with his proximity, his lips on her skin – and the steady movements of his finger inside her pussy. Not so that she was being driven mad by lust; just to remind her that was there.

He glanced down at his friend. Blaise was moving in and out of his lover now; measured thrusts that would soon build. Slowly, Draco introduced a second finger into Hermione's beautiful body – and matched Blaise's pace.

'Omigod, Draco...'

'Not a sound, petal,' he murmured.

'Sexual torture is still torture, you know,' she whispered.

He smirked.

'You are incredibly wet, Ms Granger,' he said in a quiet-modified version of his teacher's voice. 'Does spying on people fucking turn you on?'

She didn't need to answer. He could tell, just from his touch.

'How did I ever think you were such a stuck-up prude?'

'Y-you did this to me,' she stammered, squirming and pushing up against his hand. 'Draco' – she bit her lip.

'Hmm?'

'Fuck me.'

'Here?'

She nodded.

'Now?'

'Draco, please!'

'Shh,' he warned. 'Just watch for now.'

She turned to him and glared, then went to grab his cock, still hiding behind his shorts.

He grabbed her wrist, and she cursed his Quidditch-honed reflexes. 'No playing with the merchandise.'

She rolled her eyes and returned to the couple.

* * *

The lovers' skin was slicked with sweat as they moved in sync with each other. Georgio moaned Blaise's name as he licked and tugged at her nipples. 'You're holding back,' she whispered. 'I need you.'

He shook his head.

Angrily, she grabbed his hair and yanked his head off her breast. 'Listen to me!' she spat. 'I love your cock. I love being fucked by it. I fantasize about it and make myself come when we're not together. I don't want you holding back! If you're not completely enjoying it, then I'm not going to enjoy it, and we might as well stop and get some sleep.'

Blaise stopped, and caught his breath. Looking her in the eye, he muttered 'Fine,' pulled out of her and stood up.

Giorgia and Hermione's eyes widened.

He held out his hand to Giorgia's, and pulled her up, too.

The he lay down on the deckchair, face up, taking his massive erection in one hand, stroking the slick surface. 'Come on, then.'

She smiled and climbed languorously onto the deckchair, then onto Blaise. Straddling his taut hips, she knelt over cock, now pointing proudly at the night sky. Wrapping her small hand around it, she lined it up to the entrance of her body, and closed her eyes.

Then she slid down his entire length.

The effect galvanised everyone. Invocations in Italian burst from Giorgia's lips as she threw her head back and began to ride Blaise's body hard. Blaise, in turn, his body tense in his expectation that she'd hurt herself, put rather shaky hands on her hips, watched her undulate over him and then thrust into her – tentatively, but with more confidence as she accepted him.

Hermione was mesmerised by Giorgio's movements, like watching a snake move to a charmer's flute. Her core felt like it was pulsing. She wanted to be fucked. Needed it so much she wanted to scream.

She was half-seriously thinking about heading below and asking the couple if they minded a third, when she felt two hands at her hips, pulling her backwards – then onto all fours.

In the next breath, Draco slid silently into her, hard as stone. Her body clutched him like a lifeline.

Even though they could no longer see, they still heard the lovers below, the sound of their voices rising as they fucked each other. The sound of their flesh connecting exactly matched the pace that Draco set.

Although she couldn't tell him, Hermione knew her release was just around the corner. His surges built up in pace, become a little more erratic each time. It felt eerie, fucking in silence. She now realised how much she loved the words he said, the sounds he made, when they could be as free with each other as they wanted to be.

Below them, Giorgio gasped 'Blaise, I'm nearly there...'

'I can feel it, _cara,_ ' he replied between gritted teeth. 'Take me...'

Her movements over his body became jerky and wild. Grinding down on his cock as hard as she could, her cunt gripped him hard before spasming and sending her into an earth-shattering orgasm that she screamed to the stars above.

Blaise's own shout of release mixed with hers as he ejaculated over and over into her pussy.

The sound of their orgasm triggered Hermione's, and tears tracked down her cheeks as body absorbed it, swallowing her own wail of release down.

And finally, Draco's shuddering breath was the only testament he gave as his own cock pulsed hard into Hermione's body.

They stayed still for a while, bringing their breathing under control. Then Draco gently kissed the spot between Hermione's shoulder blades, and they quietly dressed.

Tying the straps of her dress together, Hermione didn't quite know what to think of the evening she'd had.

So she decided not to think about it at all.

* * *

 **A/N: apologies for any mangling of the Italian language. No offence intended, for sure x**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: I'm so ashamed, readers. I've had a bit of a struggle with writer's block and a few other ups and downs, but I finally made it to the end of chapter 21. Thank you so much for your patience.**

* * *

The next day dawned and grew into another perfect summer's day. Hermione and Draco met Giorgia and Blaise in the house's spacious kitchen, snacking on fruit, drinking strong coffee and getting in the way of the house elves.

Draco greeted the happy but sleepy pair cordially, but Hermione's cheeks were pink when she said 'good morning' to Blaise and ' _buonjiorno_ ' to Giorgia.

Blaise peered at her face. 'Did you get a bit of sun yesterday?'

Hermione put her fingers on her cheeks and avoided Draco's smirk. 'Yeah, must have,' she said weakly.

With four humans in the kitchen, the house elves had exceeded their tolerance limit, and shooed them out to a grassed area near the lap pool. There sat a large wooden picnic table looked like it had been seating hungry people since medieval days.

Then, in almost no time at all, the table was chokka-full with bread rolls, condiments and a dizzying selection of sweet pastries. These included _cornetto_ , a lighter, less buttery type of croissant with an orange-rind glaze, _crostata_ , a pie-sized tart with buttery pastry and filled with any flavour of jam, _biscotti_ and _brioche._ All were accompanied by hot, strong espresso and cappuccino.

Hermione's eyes widened at the range of sweet products on the table.

Giorgia grinned. 'It's a Luccan tradition to serve the biscotti with _chianti_ ,' she said. 'For dipping in.'

Draco pulled the plate of biscotti towards him and opened his mouth to summon a house elf, but Hermione's elbow met with his ribs.

Draco mock-glared at her. 'When in Rome, love.'

'This isn't Rome.'

'Well, when we return to Rome, may I drink wine with my breakfast, please?'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Sure. Go for it.'

'What do the tourists want to do today?' Blaise asked, pouring coffees for himself and Giorgia.

Hermione perked up. 'I'd love to see Pisa,' she said enthusiastically. 'And maybe Florence, if there's time?'

'Of course,' Giorgia smiled. 'If you and Draco side-apparate with us, we can get to both cities in no time at all.'

'Great!' Hermione said happily.

'Great,' Draco said reluctantly. He hated side-apparation.

* * *

Draco landed rather woozily in the shadowed lobby of a Bed and Breakfast run by Signor and Signora Lombardi, wizarding friends of Giorgia's family.

A burst of rapid Italian sounded from the kitchen, and a short, plump matron with purple hair and dressed all in black came bustling in. Her eyes lit up when she saw Giorgia, and the young lady was enthusiastically embraced and kissed on both cheeks. Blaise, on the other hand, merely received a baleful stare in response to his polite greeting.

'Not a fan of yours?' Draco whispered.

'She has a son who is far more appropriate for Gia than I am,' he whispered back in the tone of someone who's heard it all before.

Giorgia extracted herself from Signora Lombardi's arms with promises to visit when her handsome, successful, wonderful Giuseppe was home, and they escaped into the loud and colourful town of Wizarding Pisa.

Of course, you couldn't say you'd visited Pisa without taking a peek at its famous tower, so the quartet headed into Muggle Pisa to view the iconic architectural failure. Hermione, Blaise and Giorgia - with Draco following behind, scuffing his feet – completed a circuit of the drunken-looking bell tower, suspended in the act of taking a very long time to fall to the ground, which was obviously where it wanted to be.

'Why' – began Draco, but Hermione eagerly answered his question.

'The land it's built on used to be a river hundreds of years ago, then it silted up. Of course, silt is much too soft for a building foundation, and in any case, the foundation was too shallow, so...'

As she wittered on, staring up at the tower and pointing occasionally at important things, Draco said in an undertone to Blaise 'Actually, I was going to ask why are there so many tourists gathered around such an old and obviously unstable building?'

Blaise smirked.

...'even today, it's only estimated that the tower will remain stable for another two hundred years, then it could begin tilting again!' Luckily, Hermione was too spell-bound by the tower to notice Draco's aside.

'Sounds positively dangerous, love!' said Draco, eyes wide. 'Imagine the carnage if it should topple and flatten hundreds of tourists beneath it.' He lowered his voice. 'I think we should do Pisa a great public service and _bombarda maxima_ the crap out of it. What do you reckon, Zabini?' He pretended to search for his shrunk wand. 'You create a diversion, I'll bring the bastard down.'

Hermione was scandalised. 'You are such a barbarian!' she hissed.

Draco shrugged. He could live with that.

'It nearly was destroyed during World War Two,' Blaise added, knowing that feeding Hermione with information usually soothed her soul. 'The US Army were told to destroy it because the Germans used it as a lookout point, but when they got here, they felt they couldn't destroy something so iconic and historic, so they left it alone.'

'Yes,' Giorgia agreed. 'That was after Mussolini tried to straighten the tower by ordering tonnes of grout to be poured into the base, but that just made it sink into the ground even further. _Idiota_.'

By now they'd joined the queue of tourists waiting to enter the Tower. Draco, checking the selfies he'd taken of himself looking like he was casually-yet-sexily pushing the building over, stumbled to a stop. 'Hang on,' he frowned. 'We're not going _in,_ surely?'

Blaise nodded. 'Sure. It's been certified as safe for people to enter and climb to the top. For the moment, anyway.'

'Ah, no thank you.' Nimbly, Draco hopped out of the line and bowed elaborately to an elderly lady with a perma-tan, wearing a trucker cap that had a badge which said: 'In your guts, you know he's nuts.'

She nimbly took his spot, dragging a tall, liver-spotted gent in a Hawaiian shirt, walk socks and sandals. 'Why, thank you, young man,' she beamed in a broad American accent, then she yelled into her companion's ear 'Wasn't that nice of this young man to give up his spot for us, Horace? And so handsome he is, too!'

Horace looked up and around in fear. 'They're comin' for us, Mildred!' he quavered.

While Draco basked in a random old woman's shouted compliments, the other three left the line, too. While she was disappointed, Hermione knew there were some things Draco would not be moved on, and this was looking like one of those things.

Still, she was miffed enough to not hide her disappointment.

'Never mind, Hermione. This tower isn't the only leaning building in Pisa,' Giorgia smiled.

'Really?' Hermione was part fascinated and part disturbed to think that someone else knew something she didn't know.

'Oh, Yes! A number of buildings were unfortunately built on the old river ground. For example, there's a 12th century church called San Nicola, and another church called San Michele degli Scalzi. Both are just a couple of miles away.'

'Excellent,' Hermione said firmly. 'Draco! Stop bothering that couple and hurry up!'

* * *

After a bit of happy church-exploring on Hermione and Giorgia's parts and surreptitious mobile phone gaming on Draco and Blaise's parts, they lunched in a rustic restaurant whose outdoor area was festooned with vines on overhead trellises.

They snacked on _crostini_ , served with dips made from broad beans, garlicky cannellini beans and chicken liver pate. After that was _spaghetti alle vongole_ , with clams straight from the nearby River Arno, followed by salad. Draco was prepared to give the _Torta co' bischeri'_ a go, which was a sweet tart made with rice, cocoa, chocolate, pine nuts, raisins and nutmeg, but Blaise reminded him that they were going to side-apparate to Florence soon. Suddenly, what sounded like a promising indulgence of his sweet tooth turned into a horrible vision of him puking up his lunch at their next destination.

Malfoys didn't puke in public. It was practically written on his birth certificate.

So, it was back to Wizarding Pisa, and after another uncomfortable lurching experience in which he kept his jaws firmly clamped together, they arrived at a disused bus terminal that Wizarding Florence turned into a thriving market. Out they popped from the underground entrance and quickly lost themselves in one of Italy's most famous cities, rich in renaissance art and architecture.

Hermione was a woman on a mission. Armed with a guide map, which for some reason she found to be more reliable than Blaise and Giorgia, who were struggling to keep up with her pace, she deposited herself in front of an unassuming door on Via Ricasoli. As they sailed through, Draco glimpsed a banner to the side proclaiming _'Galleria dell'Accademia.'_ His shoulders slumping somewhat, he gamely carried on, lest he lose his love amidst the hordes of Muggle tourists.

Draco, Blaise and Giorgia put on an extra burst of speed and followed Hermione through hallways of sumptuous paintings and wide corridors of epic sculptures when they finally caught up to her, standing in front of a gigantic marble statue of a young man, staring up at it with such adoration that Draco immediately started feeling irrationally jealous.

His efforts to rouse Hermione from her stupor proved fruitless, so he wandered over to Blaise and Giorgia. 'What gives with the tall, pale stiffy?'

Blaise snorted. 'He's David, by Michelangelo.'

Draco was not _au fait_ with the who's who of marble statuary. 'David who?'

'In some Muggle religions, David was a poor shepherd from Israel who was brave enough to fight, and defeat, the Philistines' best warrior, a so-called giant called Goliath. According to their bibles, David hit Goliath in the head with a stone he hurled from a sling, which caused him to crash to the ground. Then he took Goliath's sword and chopped his head off. See? He's carrying the sling over his left shoulder, and he holds a rock in his right hand.'

Draco turned around and took another look at the statue. Sure enough, casually slung over the gigantic man's marble shoulder was a marble sling. Although his pose looked to be casual, Draco could now see the tension in the beautifully-carved face, as if he was waiting for something unpleasant to start.

'He was carved from just one piece of marble,' Giorgia added.

Hmph. Impressive. In fact, Draco had to concede that the entire sculpture was so well carved, it didn't even look like it was marble at all. If he wasn't so giant, or white-grey in colour, he could imagine David stepping off the pedestal and taking his place before Goliath, setting the stone into the sling, knowing he only had one chance.

But as for the young man's groin...

'Did Michelangelo run out of marble when it came to sculpting his meat and two veg?'

Blaise snickered, and Giorgia frowned at them both. 'I dare you to ask Hermione that question.'

Draco smirked. 'No thanks. I'm not a sadist.'

'Some men are not as lucky as others to be so well endowed,' she continued, with a sideways look at Blaise that made Draco feel rather superfluous to requirements.

He left the couple, who were about to canoodle, and strolled up to Hermione, who by now was staring intently at David's shapely bum. He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

She leaned against him and sighed happily. 'It would be so easy to believe that if you touched him, he'd feel warm beneath your fingers.'

Draco nodded. 'Michelangelo had some serious talent.'

They stood in silence with their necks craned up, until Draco's inner imp got hold of his tongue. 'Was is standard practice for men back then to fight with their tackle out?'

But to Draco's surprise, Hermione didn't sniff in indignation or stomp on his instep. 'There are examples from around the world, from ancient to relatively modern times, where men fought battles or played sports naked,' she said brightly. 'A group of ancient Vikings called Berserkers fought nude. Their enemies thought they were crazy for not fighting in protective gear, let alone clothing, that they were terrified of them. During the ancient Olympic Games, the athletes competed in the nude, and married women weren't allowed to participate or watch. The Maori from New Zealand and ancient Scottish warriors used to fight naked, so their opponents could see their extensive tattoos. The tattoos told their foes where they were from, how fiercely they'd fought in previous battles, and so on.'

Far from being annoyed at having accidentally kick-started another lecture series, Draco rested his chin on top of Hermione's head, closed his eyes and smiled, listening to her voice rise and fall.

* * *

With a hop, skip and an apparation later, the four landed back at _Casa Farfalle_ , desperate for a swim and a beer under the baking-hot Italian sun. After all, their holidays were due to end soon, and the spectre of university loomed just around the corner for them all.

A couple of hours later, refreshed but a little tipsy, they trooped inside for another beautiful Italian meal. Over _rovellini lucchese_ , breaded pork escalopes served with a tomato sauce made zingy with anchovies and capers, Blaise asked 'Have either of you had any news about Ron?'

Draco and Hermione glanced at each other, then at their plates.

'Is it that bad?' Blaise asked in alarm.

'No! The food's delicious,' Hermione assured him.

He mock-glared at her. 'You know that's not what I'm talking about.'

'Worth a shot,' she replied weakly.

Pouring himself another beer for fortification, Draco summarised what Charlie Weasley had told them. When he got to the end, Blaise groaned and buried his head in his hands.

'What the fuck was I thinking?' he ground out.

Giorgia looked lost. 'I am sorry,' she said 'but what is going on?'

'Blaise was going out with my friend Ron's sister,' Hermione said gently. 'She was manipulated into being intimate with Draco, and when they found out, they attacked him, and challenged him to a duel.'

Giorgia stared at Draco before turning to Blaise. 'Is this why you had to go to another school?' she asked.

He sighed heavily. 'Yeah. I hate myself for what I did. I can't believe I fell into that bitch's clutches.'

Giorgia looked even more confused. 'Which bitch?'

'Pansy Parkinson. A former associate of mine and the coldest, greediest, most manipulative cow that ever darkened Hogwarts' doors,' said Draco edgily. 'And that's saying something.'

'This Pansy arranged everything to happen? All the scheming and grief and heartache and violence?'

'Yeah. And we fell for it.'

Giorgia was silent, fingering the stem of her wine glass. Eventually, she asked 'Why has Ron changed so much?'

'We're not sure,' Hermione said sadly. 'We thought that having him working with his brother in Romania would give him the opportunity to think about what he'd done and want to come back and turn over a new leaf. But it appears he's worse than ever.'

'I'm so sorry, _cara_ ,' Blaise said dejectedly. 'I behaved like such an ass.'

She smiled wanly, but kissed his cheek. 'This happened before I met you. I just care about the man I see in front of me now.'

They hugged, and Hermione and Draco smiled.

* * *

Later on, all four were sprawled on the floor of the minimalist living room, gathered around a pack of exploding cards. Blaise had unearthed some elf-made wine from his stepfather's cellar, and they were all contributing to its disappearance.

They began by playing Exploding Snap in accordance with the rules, but as their goblets emptied and replenished with the beautiful but dangerous wine, their wand-play began to suffer terribly. This, of course, was a source of great amusement to the foursome, who were well on their way to becoming rather drunk.

It was Giorgia who suggested they put the wands away and pay a forfeit if a card exploded when it was their turn. Hermione agreed enthusiastically, which Draco knew was a good sign that she was well on her way to becoming sozzled. He grinned. This could make for an interesting night...

At first, the forfeits were mild and silly. Draco had to sing the Hogwarts school song, which he did (badly), and Giorgia had to sing hers, which she did (beautifully). Blaise had to hop around the large living room on one foot – which was harder than it sounded, thanks to the wine, but he rather gracelessly achieved it. And Hermione had to recite the ingredients, and the order of use, that went into a Polyjuice Potion. Which she accomplished perfectly, of course.

Draco tried to register a protest that Hermione's forfeit was way too easy for her, but he was good-naturedly shouted down.

As the evening wore on, the forfeits developed into… interesting territory, shall we say.

Blaise and Draco had already lost their t-shirts (no biggie to them) when Draco lost another round. Giorgia and Hermione whispered together, tossing coy glances at him, when Hermione suddenly turned pink – then nodded.

Interesting, Draco thought. What are the ladies up to?

Giorgia said - with a Slytherin-like smirk - 'Draco, you have to kiss Blaise.'

Hermione toppled over, giggling, while Blaise threw his head back and moaned 'Why me?' to the far-off ceiling.

Draco smirked and put down his goblet. 'I take it that a kiss on the cheek is inadequate?'

Giorgia, whose grasp of English was starting to desert her, turned to Hermione, who said 'You got it, buster.'

'All right,' Draco sighed and crawled over to Blaise. 'But if the two of you get hopelessly turned on by our overpowering sexiness, you only have yourselves to blame.'

'We'll cope.'

Blaise watched Draco approach with a smile playing on his lips. When Draco's face was close to his, a look exchanged between them. Draco rested his hand on the back of Blaise's neck, and drew him to his lips.

Their kiss was gentle, sexy - yet chaste. Very different from when Draco kissed Theo, but then, their attraction to each other was a motivating factor. Blaise was definitely a good-looking bloke, and Draco liked him enormously – well, as much as a Malfoy could like anyone – but that was all.

And when he pulled away and looked into Blaise's twinkling eyes, he knew they were on the same page.

The girls clapped and whistled their appreciation, and Draco executed a bow. Not a very deep one; he was a little scuppered; and Malfoys do not fall arse over tit, even when they're sozzled.

He slumped elegantly to the floor. 'That's it, I'm done,' he announced. 'You remaining three can continue to deprave each other. I'll just watch. And maybe referee.'

'That sounds good. I'll join him,' said Blaise.

'No! You're not allowed!' Giorgia howled.

'Why on earth not?'

'That last dare was Draco's, not yours.'

'But I kissed him!'

'Technically, mate, I kissed you,' Draco drawled.

'Yes, what he said.' Giorgia's hair rippled up and down as she emphatically nodded.

Hermione lay on the floor, humming.

Blaise sighed theatrically. 'Fine,' he said. 'But after my next humiliating dare, I'm out.'

* * *

He executed his swan song admirably well, despite efforts from the floor to trip him up. Hermione dared him to do fifty press-ups, considering herself quite generous that she didn't insist that he do them on his knuckles, or on one hand, for instance. But she soon regretted it as he rolled onto his stomach with a self-satisfied smirk, laid his palms on the floor, raised his body off it, and sank into what looked like a series of effortless rises and falls.

Giorgia noted Hermione's sulk and agreed with it. Wobbling to her feet, she thought better of it and sank onto her knees. She crawled sultrily to her industrious boyfriend, and when his body was close to the floor, she leapt onto his back, clamped her knees against his ribs and 'woo-hoo'ed in delight as Blaise – recovering admirably from the shock of having another weight land on his back – gamely continued to the end.

Although press ups forty-five through fifty were a little more wobbly than he would have preferred.

He slumped to the floor, acknowledging the enthusiastic applause with a tired wave of his hand. Giorgia climbed off her 'horse' and crawled back to the girls' side, giving Blaise a more-than-adequate glimpse of her pert bottom through her tiny shorts.

There was an exchange of words in Italian, followed by Giorgia's laugh, but neither volunteered to translate to the mono-language speakers in the room.

Blaise pulled himself upright and shuffled over to Draco, who toasted him with his goblet.

'Come on, ladies,' Blaise smirked,' entertain your men!'

* * *

Inevitably, an exploding card exploded – this time, on Giorgia's side. She pouted as Hermione went into hysterics.

'Come on, then,' Giorgia sighed dramatically, 'do your worst!'

The gentlemen conferred in low voices. Then Draco announced 'What's sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose.'

'Wha-?' slurred Giorgia. 'You want to eat a goose? Now?'

Blaise snorted with laughter while Draco rolled his eyes.

'No, my dear. Since basic proverbs are obviously beyond your comprehension at the moment, I'll cut to the chase and tell you that your forfeit is to kiss Hermione.'

'That's me!' Hermione cried.

Giorgia looked at the boys speculatively, then shrugged eloquently. She crawled over to Hermione, who was lying on the floor again, took her arms and hauled her upright into a sitting position.

'Hello!' Hermione grinned.

'Hello,' Giorgia replied. 'Your boyfriend says I have to kiss you.'

Hermione blinked. 'He's not my boyfriend!' she protested.

Draco spat out his wine.

'He is my... lover!' she whispered with great exaggeration and seriousness.

Blaise clamped his hand over his mouth to stop some girlish giggles from escaping. Draco put a hand on his bare chest over his heart. Yup. It was still beating, thank Salazar.

'Well then,' Giorgia smiled. 'Shall we show the boys how it's really done?'

'Will we be graded?' Hermione earnestly asked.

'Oh, yes, Granger,' Blaise replied with a smirk. 'Rigorously graded.'

Hermione nodded, pleased, and lifted up her face to Giorgia's.

She leaned close to Hermione and gently rubbed noses, causing Hermione to giggle. Then Giorgia parted her lips a little, bent down further... and kissed Hermione's pulse, then followed with a long, slow drag of her tongue.

Hermione jumped; then moaned.

Blaise and Draco stared; mouths open, drinks forgotten.

Georgia kissed her way along Hermione's jawline to her chin, always following with a languorous lick of her tongue. Hermione's eyes were closed, and her breath rose and fell erratically.

Georgia looked out of the corner of her eye at the boys. They were motionless, almost forgetting how to breathe. One look at Blaise's crotch and she could tell he was aroused; a flickering glance to Draco confirmed his own similar state.

She turned back to Hermione, whose skin tasted of sunshine and wine. Hermione's eyes were half-open, and she subconsciously licked her lips. Giorgia gave her a feline smile, leaned in, and sealed her mouth over Hermione's.

* * *

 **A/N: Please stick around for the next chapter...**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Oh noes! I've been spelling Beauxbatons wrong! Fifty points from Ravenclaw! (Is anyone surprised that I'm one? Haha)**

 **Now, don't get too excited by my ridiculously early update. It's a jolly short one, but I need to end it where it ends, otherwise the impact is lost. Chapter 23 is in my head though, and - if all the pixies are willing - I'll hammer it out in the very near future.**

 **I received a few queries as to whether I was pondering a multiple m** **é** **nage with the foursome, or a threesome combo. The answer is: no. No, no, no, no, never, no.**

 **Please enjoy x**

* * *

Giorgia was very familiar with kissing girls, and a lot more besides. It was practically the school sport at Beauxbatons. But she guessed that Hermione was new to this game, and took a gentle approach.

She explored Hermione's full lips – firstly with her own; then with her tongue. Hermione gasped and parted her lips, and Giorgia took the advantage. Holding Hermione's head to bring her closer, she dipped her tongue into Hermione's mouth, tasting wine and cherries from their dessert – plus something that was just... her. She envied Draco for being able to taste this girl anytime he wanted.

Hermione responded, joining her tongue with Giorgia's, moving hesitantly in her mouth. Then suddenly, Hermione wrapped her arms around Giorgia, pressing her body hard against hers.

They explored each other's mouths with increasing urgency, until they could no longer breathe. They parted, breathless, looking into each other's eyes, and finding –

' _Mio Dio_ ,' Blaise breathed. He hissed when his fingers brushed his groin, adjusting himself.

Draco put his wine down and clapped slowly, smirking. Only Hermione would have known, if she were looking at him, how strained his actions were. 'Marvellous kiss, my dears. You've certainly paid your forfeit, Gia.'

Giorgia gently let Hermione go and shuffled along the floor to her boyfriend. 'That is how you kiss,' she said smugly, trying to both quell her thumping heart and ignore the heat between her legs. 'In case you need pointers.'

Normally Draco would erupt in rage if someone dared to call his sexual talent into question. This time, however, he grinned at her sleepily and murmured 'Touché.'

* * *

Now it was down to Hermione. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she laid down one card after another with the exaggerated seriousness only the phenomenally drunk can achieve.

The other three watched in silence.

Until...

BANG!

Hermione shrieked with laughter and rolled on the floor.

Giorgia, Blaise and Draco looked at each other. She noticed the glint in Draco's eyes, and said 'You should give her the forfeit, Draco.'

Draco let out a breath. But just as he was about to speak, Hermione said 'No! I will choose my own forfeit!'

'That's not normally how these things are done, love,' Draco pointed out.

'Shut up!' she said aggressively, then giggled to take away the sting. 'You'll like my forfeit, and it's something completely out of character for me. Isn't that the point?'

'Um' –

'Let her do what she wants,' Giorgia smiled. 'Personally, I'm intrigued.'

Blaise paused from nuzzling Giorgia's neck. 'Let the woman do her thing,' he mumbled against her skin.

Hermione hauled herself upward and took an experimental step forward. Satisfied that she had a reasonable chance of not falling flat on her face should she remain upstanding, she pointed a finger at Draco and said 'You are going to like it.'

She transferred her finger to Blaise. 'And _you_ are going to like it.'

Then she smiled sultrily at Giorgia. 'And I'm pretty sure _you_ are going to like it, too.'

'Then it seems we are all in agreement,' Draco remarked. 'Except three of us don't know what in Merlin's name you're doing.'

Hermione smiled.

Draco gulped.

'I'm going to show you something I was taught,' she said in a sing-song voice. 'By your acolyte, in fact.'

My aco-what? thought Draco in drunk befuddlement. Then the penny dropped with an almighty clang.

No. Way.

With immense difficulty, he clamped his jaws together and pushed the words 'You will strip the clothes from your body in front of Blaise (and, less worryingly, Giorgia) OVER MY DEAD BODY!' to the back of his throat. Where they stayed, threatening to choke him.

When Hermione makes up her mind, she makes up her mind. And woe betide anyone who tries to un-make it.

'Carry on, then,' he rasped.

She acknowledged him with a sardonic nod, then, with the flick of her hand, the room filled with soft, slow jazz music; sultry, seductive. She turned away from her audience and sauntered to the end of the living room, her hands hooked into the pockets of her denim shorts. Blaise and Giorgia, having no idea what to expect, briefly paused from their necking to see where she went and wonder why music was playing in the room all of a sudden.

Despite his possessive panicking, Draco had to hand it to his girlfriend, or are they calling themselves lovers, now? Even three sheets to the wind, she could still execute wandless magic perfectly.

Hermione spun around on the ball of one foot, her curly hair whirling around her head. Unfortunately, when she stopped turning, the room continued to turn around and around and around and –

Draco grabbed his wand, and with a perfectly-executed _Arresto Momentum_ , suspended Hermione halfway through her speedy descent to the stressed concrete floor.

* * *

He gathered Hermione into his arms, gently patting her cheek to make sure she hadn't drunk herself into a coma. She briefly opened her eyes, snarled 'Who the hit do you think you're doing?' then slumped her head against his bare shoulder.

Blaise, belatedly remembering his host responsibilities, hovered over Draco's other shoulder. 'Is she okay?' he asked, concerned.

Draco heaved her over his shoulder into a fireman's lift. 'She'll be fine,' he said, with the experience of one who's survived more than one drunken binge in his short lifetime. 'Have you got any Pepperup Potion?'

'Sure, I'll _accio_ some to your room.' Then Blaise sighed. 'Wish we'd gotten to see what Granger was planning.'

Yeah, I'll just bet, Draco growled. In his head.

'See you in the morning, then.' Draco kissed Giorgia goodnight on the cheek, nodded at Blaise, then headed off with his burden up the stairs. Hermione's head, and the curls attached to it, bounced with every step.

Blaise scratched his head. 'That was a rather sudden ending to the evening,' he remarked.

Giorgia stood on the bottom stair, staring at him rather seriously for someone who'd been quaffing elf-made wine all evening.

Blaise frowned. _'Che cos'è, cara?_ '

She bit her lip. 'Make love to me. Please.'

Alarmed at her abrupt change in mood, he was by her side in a second, drawing her into his arms.

'Gia' –

She kissed him fiercely, stopping his words.

* * *

In their bedroom, Draco laid Hermione on her side of the bed and vanished her clothes. After double-checking that she was sleeping and not unconscious, he ambled to the en suite, shedding his shorts and underwear along the way. Nude, he brushed his teeth and inspected his fabulous hair.

Yep, still fabulous.

He winked at his reflection and headed back into the bedroom. By the moonlight, he climbed onto the bed and laid down next to Hermione, watching her breathe in and out. He gently wound a curl of her wayward hair around his finger, smiling to himself when he let it go and it sprang, with righteous indignation, back to where it came from. With a pang of guilt, he recalled all the times he taunted her about her hair in school. Just to get her attention.

He quietly watched the moonlight trace across her lightly tanned skin. His fingers itched to touch her. To run his fingers around the luscious curve of her breasts. To feel their weight, their warmth. Idly, he imagined an infant nursing at one of her breasts, tiny fist opening and closing, eyes screwed shut as he or she drew milk from their mother's body – and the rush of raw emotion that flooded his head and his heart nearly overwhelmed him.

Shaken, he rolled onto his back. What in Salazar's name just happened?

Cautiously, he turned over and looked at Hermione again. Slowly, he held out a slightly shaking hand and with the lightest of touches (that he was capable of, considering his own inebriated state) touched one of her nipples.

She moved, and he withdrew his hand.

Slowly, he laid down on his side, facing her. He linked one of his hands with hers and brought it to his lips to gently kiss.

He was still holding it when he fell asleep.

* * *

Along the hallway, Blaise and Giorgia also lay in bed. Blaise slept the sleep of the thoroughly shagged and inebriated, his long, lithe form wrapped around Georgia.

She was still awake. She wished she could get out of bed, but Blaise was a light sleeper, and if she woke him...

...No. She couldn't wake him.

Instead, she held him tight and stared sightlessly out of the window, up at the moon, trying not to tremble as large, silent tears fell down her cheeks.

* * *

 **A/N: Right - I'll just make myself scarce...**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Welcome back, readers. Brace yourself for lemons and shockers...**

* * *

Light streamed in through the large bedroom window. That on its own was enough to make Hermione screw up her face in pain and turn away. But another irritant was tickling her nose, and unlike the sunlight, it wouldn't go away, no matter where she moved her very sore head.

Groaning, she summoned up the strength to crank open an eye. One of her wayward curls of hair was the source of the irritation. However, it was being assisted by one aggravatingly cheerful boyfriend, having a marvelous time directing the curl with his wand as he lounged next to her.

'Good morning, beautiful,' he grinned.

She grabbed a pillow and plonked it over her face.

With a flick of his wand, Draco wafted it away.

'Bloghsslg adfldshle,' Hermione groaned, which Draco roughly interpreted as 'Bloody arsehole.' She turned away from him and curled into the foetal position.

She shrieked when he slapped her bum as he hopped out of bed, nude (of course).

She prayed for the strength to get up and repay his last touch, with a million percent interest, when she discovered something very desirable, hanging mere inches away from her face.

Her lips curved into a reluctant grin.

'Is that for me?' she croaked.

He winked salaciously and jiggled it in front of her lips. 'Only you,' he purred.

She licked her lips hungrily. 'Bring it here and I'll take care of it,' she whispered.

He exhaled and stepped closer to her.

She opened her mouth…

…and swiftly consumed the Pepperup Potion Draco had dangled in front of her.

She flopped back onto the bed, waiting for the potion to work its literal magic. 'I love you, wizarding world,' she said woozily.

With a gleam in his eye, Draco slowly climbed on to the bed, between Hermione's open legs. Slowly, he crawled over her body until he came to rest above her, nose to nose. 'And how are we feeling this morning?' he asked with a gleam in his eye.

She looked at him suspiciously. 'You're awfully chipper this morning.'

He grinned. 'Oh, I am, my dear,' he gloated. 'The events of last night make for very fond remembering.'

The events of last… Hermione frowned.

'Which events of last night are you referring to?' she asked cagily.

Draco's gloating grin acquired even more gloat. 'Having trouble recalling?' he jibed.

'No!' she retorted. 'It's just that… well…um...' Damn it, those eyes of his are too distracting!

'So, you recall the sultry, sexy French kiss you shared with Giorgia?' Draco asked, all innocence.

Eep.

'Of – of course,' Hermione replied, with most of her dignity within reach. 'I hope you liked it, because there won't be a repeat.'

Draco's eyes darkened, and her pulse began to hammer at her throat. 'It was enjoyed,' he said in a low voice. 'By everyone.'

At the juncture of her bare legs, she felt his penis harden. It took a lot of effort to wrench her gaze from his, but she needed to remember. In a hurry.

He slowly lowered his head, and she felt the feather touch of his hair brush over her nose, her lips, her chin – then his lips settled on her neck. He nipped her – she gasped at the surprise, rather than the brief pain – then he moved down to her breast.

Against her skin, he continued. 'And then, of course, was the other thing.'

Oh cripes.

'That other thing, yes,' she said slowly. 'Ah... was that also enjoyable?'

Draco looked up from her breast. 'You didn't complete it, love. In fact, you barely even started it.'

He shifted his hips, and she felt the head of his cock nudge the entrance to her body. She moved against him, hoping to distract – but he moved just out of reach.

She sighed in defeat. 'All right, all right,' she grouched. 'What was I going to do last night before I...?'

'Before you passed out and narrowly avoided breaking your pretty little nose on the floor.' Draco lightly kissed it.

'Oh, gods...' she groaned.

'I believe, my dear, you were going to perform – for me, Blaise and Giorgia – a striptease.'

He burst out laughing at the look of horror on her face.

She clapped both hands over her face, muffling the 'No, no no's' coming from her mouth.

He pulled one hand away, kissing the fingers. 'Oh yes, love,' he grinned sexily.

'Well, at least I didn't go through with it.' She removed her other hand and stared at the twinkle in his eyes. 'What?' she asked suspiciously. Again.

'You will be doing it.' Draco whispered these words before brushing her clitoris with the lightest of touches.

'The hell I w-will,' Hermione replied. Very unconvincingly.

'For my eyes only.' He shifted up again, and now he leaned over her, his eyes dark with arousal and his cock cushioned by her slick folds. 'Do you understand, pet?'

She needed him. 'Y' –

The word was swallowed by his mouth, and he surged into her body.

* * *

Down the hall, Blaise and Giorgia were a little further ahead. She was wild, aggressive, bucking against Blaise's body, crying out her orgasms. If Blaise tried to ask if she was okay, she'd fling her hair over her shoulders and beg for more of his gorgeous cock.

Now Blaise stood at the foot of their disheveled bed with his large hands gripping Giorgia's hips. He plunged his cock in and out of her soaking body again and again, sweat shining on his body. She'd just orgasmed for the umpteenth time but showed no signs of stopping.

She pushed herself back as Blaise thrust forward, impaling herself on his glistening cock.

 _'Che cazzo,'_ she gasped.

 _'No, cara,'_ he replied. His cock was way too big to fuck her arse.

 _'Prego!'_ she screamed in frustration.

'No!' he shouted back. He slapped one of her buttocks, watching her firm flesh jiggle, then traced a thumb around her sphincter.

'Gods, yes,' Giorgia moaned.

Summoning some lubricant, Blaise coated his thumb and slid it slowly into her arse, not letting up in his brutal pace.

The effect on Giorgia was electric. She moaned and pushed herself up against Blaise's body even harder. 'More, oh gods, please!'

Blaise growled and leaned over her, kneading one of her breasts. 'Why are you so insatiable?' he hissed against her skin.

'Please, _tesoro_ , I need to come!' she gasped, her long hair falling in matted ropes across her face.

He pushed them out of the way, twisting them in his hand. 'You've come so many times I've lost count, sweetheart.'

'One more, please, I beg you,' she said desperately. 'Come with me.'

Blaise moved back and lubricated another finger. It slid in with ease, and Georgia moaned with near-delirium as her body accommodated him. His voice joined hers as the addition of his long finger made her already narrow cunt even tighter. He felt his cock slide against his finger though the delicate tissue that separated them.

'Oh gods, Blaise,' she moaned, 'so wonderful' – she broke off as her muscles spasmed around Blaise's cock.

'Come for me,' Blaise gritted. 'I'm gonna explode inside you – fuck!'

The speed and intensity of her orgasm took him by surprise. Her cunt flooded; he felt it drip onto his balls. Her muscles squeezed his cock like a vice – painfully, but for only a second – before his orgasm took over his brain and he emptied himself into her, moaning unintelligible words out loud. When he was drained, he gently pulled out and climbed tiredly onto the bed, scooping Giorgia's sweat-slicked body close to him.

But it turned out, his words weren't so unintelligible, after all.

'Do you mean what you said?' Giorgia whispered.

'Eh?' was the only sound Blaise could articulate.

 _'Giorgia, ti amo,'_ she replied softly. 'You said you love me.'

He had no recollection of saying it, given that his brain was occupied with other things, but that was okay. He meant it, even if he wasn't sure if she felt the same. He swallowed, but said bravely _'_ _Sì, cara. Ti amo.'_

Slowly, she turned in his arms and faced him. She drew a delicate hand down one side of his beautiful face. When she met his eyes, they were pooled with tears.

 _'T_ _i amo anch'io,'_ she whispered on a wobbly smile. 'I love you, too.'

He tasted her tears as they kissed.

Tears can be happy, as well as sad.

* * *

Breakfast was a little subdued. Draco had to practically carry Hermione down the stairs, she was so embarrassed by her antics from the night before. Of course, she had nothing to fear, as Blaise was the epitome of Pure-blood honor, greeting her with nothing more than a smile and kiss to her cheek. Giorgia did the same, although Hermione thought she seemed a little lingering; a little distant.

Part-way through breakfast, a house-elf materialised next to Blaise's elbow and murmured something in low tones. Blaise grinned and said 'Wait here, guys, I'll be back in a jiffy.' With a last look at Giorgia, he headed into the house.

Breakfast was eaten in an odd, restrained silence for a few minutes, until Draco said 'You're a bit quiet there, Gia. Blaise keeping you up?'

Hermione whacked him in the bicep for his insensitivity, but he caught her fist, raised her fingers to his lips, and kissed them with a wink.

Giorgia smiled. 'You two are so good together,' she said wistfully. 'It's like you're meant to be.'

Draco was silent, remembering his thoughts from the night before. Hermione rallied and said 'You and Blaise seem perfect for each other, too.'

She looked into her cappuccino. 'He told me he loved me this morning.'

'But – that's wonderful!' Hermione exclaimed. 'Only... you seem a little upset. Is everything okay? Draco can bugger off if you want to talk.'

Draco, smarting, opened his mouth but was beaten to the punch by Blaise, who called out 'Look who's here!'

Draco and Hermione swiveled around, and wouldn't you know it? Heading towards their picnic table was the still-very-loved-up couple Theo Nott and Lavender Brown.

* * *

In amongst the hugs and exclamations and kisses, Giorgia whispered to Blaise 'I need to go home, darling. Urgent business.'

'Oh,' said Blaise, disappointed. Even though he knew it wouldn't matter; they'd be attending university soon. 'Will I see you later?'

In reply, she stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him, achingly slowly. 'I love you, Blaise Zabini,' she said, her voice cracking.

He hugged her, burying his face in her hair. _'Ti amo, cara.'_

Giorgia was gone before Draco and Hermione noticed.

* * *

'You're coming to university too, Theo?' Hermione asked, buttering a bread roll. 'Fantastic! What are you studying?'

'Estate management, basically. My family's got a lot of land in various places around Europe, and I'd like to be the first Nott in generations to actually look after it, not let it go to seed and siphon off what profits can still be had.' He took a swig of espresso. 'Wow! That's just what I need.'

'Lavender keeping you up at nights, then?' smirked Draco.

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Is that seriously all you can think about?'

'I'm an eighteen-year-old male, love. What did you expect?'

She ignored him. 'Lavender, what are your plans?'

'Oh,' she said, embarrassed. 'I don't have any, really. Just organizing the wedding, and so forth.'

'Hey,' Theo smiled. 'Now's as good a time as any.'

Lavender blushed. 'Hermione,' she said bravely,' will you be my maid of honour?'

Hermione's jaw dropped. She wasn't usually a close friend of Lavender's, but the events of the previous year had forged a bond between them. She was touched. 'Of course, I will,' she said, beaming.

Over Lavender's gushed thanks, Theo raised an eyebrow at Draco. 'So, how about it?' he asked. 'Mind taking time out of your busy schedule to be my best man?'

'Mate, I'd be honoured.' Draco raised his little coffee cup, and it was joined by four more.

'To Theo and Lavender's wedding!'

* * *

In a hidden corner of Lucca, Giorgia counted the steps of the terracotta stairs until she reached the fourth floor of a secluded apartment block. Nervously, she licked her lips and straightened her summer dress before knocking on the door.

At length, the door opened to reveal the apartment's occupant, still dressed in a black silk robe even though it was past ten in the morning.

'Giorgia. I'd almost forgotten what you looked like.'

Giorgia blushed. 'I'm sorry. I've only just come into the information you wanted.'

Dark eyes gleamed. 'Well, in that case, _cara,_ you'd best come in.'

Nervously, Giorgia crossed the threshold and stood in the vestibule while the door closed. Suddenly, she found herself shoved against the wall, the front of her dress ripped to expose her breasts and hardened, pointed nipples. She gasped, then moaned as a pair of thin lips connectd with hers and her chin was tugged down, demanding entry into her mouth. She opened her mouth and sucked desperately on the tongue that plunged inside.

A leg pushed in between hers, spreading them, and Giorgia wailed when two fingers thrust hard into her pantyless cunt.

'Soaking wet already, you little bitch,' a voice said indulgently. 'Is that for me, or for your boyfriend?' The fingers sped up, fucking her cunt relentlessly.

'Y – you, only you, oh my gods,' Giorgia moaned, kneading hard at her breasts with her eyes closed. 'Oh gods, please, you're gonna make me come' –

The fingers thrust harder, even faster than before.

Giorgia screamed, her pussy contracting hard over those magical fingers. Come gushed from her pussy and down her legs as she wailed in ecstasy, clinging to the wall for dear life.

Her lover's fingers pulled out of Giorgia's cunt, shaking drops of her come onto the floor. Then she was pulled in for one last, hard kiss.

Panting, Giorgia pulled slowly away. 'T-thank you,' she stuttered.

Smiling, Pansy undid her robe and let it drop to the floor, revealing her lithe young body. 'You're welcome, my darling,' she purred. 'I've waited for you for so long. So much so, that I want you to fuck me long and hard before you tell me where to find Ron.'

* * *

Giorgia's heart was breaking. She promised Pansy she wouldn't get emotionally involved. Just fuck the man and screw the whereabouts of a certain Ron Weasley out of him.

At Beauxbatons, she fell in love with Pansy Parkinson.

In Lucca, she fell in love with Blaise Zabini.

But she had no choice.

* * *

 **A/N: the plot's afoot!**


	24. Chapter 24

**A short interlude to tie up Italy so we can box on with the plot. Lemons burst with citrusy goodness below.**

* * *

 _Arrivederci Lucca_ , for our favourite couple. Yes, I am referring to Draco and Hermione ;)

The holidays have come to a close, and as they sadly pack their bags once more, they conduct a stocktake of their most recent adventure:

Number of Italians beers and wines consumed: never you mind!

Number of Michaelangelo's Davids ogled at: one gloriously long time

Number of times Draco and Hermione had sex: ... just about the right amount (Draco); oh my god, how often do you expect us to have sex?! (Hermione)

Number of times they spied on Giorgia and Blaise hard at it: just the once

Number of times Draco and Hermione were spied on while hard at it: none (thank the gods, thought Hermione)

Number of times Hermione nearly bared her breasts to the public: none (thank the gods, thought Draco)

Number of times Draco lost it: just the once, thankfully

Number of times Draco knew he couldn't live without his swotty, naggy, beautiful, _reactive_ girlfriend: hard to tell really, it's all kind of rolling into one.

Number of times Draco got to drink wine at breakfast: sadly, none.

* * *

'Where was your most favourite place of all?' Draco asked his woman, wrapping his hands around her waist and drawing her close.

'Well...' she pondered. 'Lucca is absolutely lovely...'

'I totally agree,' he murmured, nuzzling her neck. He smiled against her skin. His Hermione was never one to answer a simple question simply.

She giggled (Hermione's always been ticklish). 'But I have to confess that my favourite place is... the hotel in London.' Her cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink.

Draco's smile grew, as did another part of his anatomy. 'Well, we have a little time to spare before we settle in at University...' he hissed when she ground lightly against his pelvis.

'Do we?' Her smile was sultry.

He released an arm and fished his mobile out of his pocket. 'Shall I notify Tarquin, my dear?'

This time, she applied her lips to his neck. 'I think you should.'

* * *

 **In the hotel**

It was morning. The sun was up, but our couple weren't. Holidays were for sleeping in.

Hermione lay on her side, facing away from him. Her hair sprawled across her pillow. The bedsheets had worked their way south, revealing her nude body to her hips. He followed the outline of her ribs to where it dipped at her waist, then curved again over her hip. Her chest rose and fell evenly.

Draco glanced down at his erection. Always persistent in the morning, it looked bigger, felt heavier, when she slept with him. He smiled to himself. It was like that around her a lot.

A gentleman doesn't make demands of his woman this early on a holiday morning. He knew that. But he couldn't overcome his need to touch her. To feel the heat of her skin and thing about how smooth she felt against his hands, calloused and knocked about from years of playing quidditch.

Slowly, he slid across the bed to her, aligning his longer body against her smaller frame. He nestled his cock between the cleft of her buttocks, reminding himself not to move; it's just for rest. For the time being.

He put his lips to her shoulder, tasting and breathing her. Carefully he wrapped an arm around her waist and gently cupped her full breast. He laid his head down on her pillow and felt warm, sleepy and happy.

And horny.

* * *

Draco must have drifted off to sleep – he wasn't sure if he'd imagined her shifting her hips slightly; briefly pressing against his erection. He held himself still; waiting.

There! He knew it. Hermione canted her hips, and his cock slid between the cleft of her lovely arse. Air left her lips; then she was still again.

He tucked some of her hair away and put his lips below her ear, smiling. 'I know you're not asleep,' he murmured.

She remained as unresponsive as the Sphinx.

He pressed his body a little harder against hers and brushed his thumb against her nipple. It hardened, and her breath caught. But she still refused to open her eyes.

In a playful mood, he was tempted to pinch the pink tissue between his thumb and forefinger, knowing there was no way she could ignore the sharp pain. But he knew if he did, she'd throttle him, and there would be no sex that morning. Or that day, most likely.

'I wonder if you're wet?' he whispered, brushing his fingers down her chest and over her abdomen. Her breath shallowed the further he crept to her centre.

However, he bypassed it and smoothed his hand along her upper thigh. He lifted it and draped it over his topmost leg, opening her cunt to him.

He ran his middle finger down the centre of her pussy, clitoris to perineum, dipping into her body's core. _Gods, yes._

His erection became impossibly harder. She was soaking and open.

'Dreaming about me?' he smirked. He brought his wet finger to her closed lips.

They parted, and he fed his finger into her warm, wet mouth. She sucked on it, swirling her tongue, fellating it. Now it was his turn to close his eyes.

'Fuck, I need you,' he whispered.

When he opened his eyes, they met hers, filled with lust and mischief. She took his hand and fed his index finger into her mouth, alongside his other finger. The nerves along them spasmed, just like his cock.

'Tease,' he murmured, then he fed his throbbing, stone-hard cock into her gorgeous pussy.

* * *

Hermione's back arched and her hips pushed hard against Draco's groin. She moaned around his fingers; then leaned her head against his shoulder. His hand freed, he wrapped his fingers back around her breast, tightening around it. He stroked his cock steadily in and out her, listening to the slick, wet sound it made as he surged into her tight, wet heat.

He looked at her face, smiling a little. Her eyes were closed again, but her lips were parted. She was trying not to be too loud, but she could never hold back. It was one of the things he loved about her. She was so fucking reactive.

He released her breast - a little reluctantly - and wrapped his hand around her raised leg. He snaked his other arm under her waist and pulled her body closer, fucking her harder and faster. He splayed his hand across her pelvis, pressing down on her bladder. He felt his cock prod deep inside her.

The effect was immediate. 'Oh my god!' she moaned, gripping her own breasts and kneading them hard. Her cunt got even wetter, slicking his balls. She tightened her muscles around his cock and fuck, she felt good.

'Getting ready to cum, love?' he whispered. He pressed a little harder on her bladder.

'Stop it!' she wailed on a whisper. 'You're gonna make me pee...'

He chuckled, introducing a finger to her neglected clitoris. This little button was a guaranteed orgasm-creator for her. 'You always say that, but you never do.'

'There's always a first time – oh gods, yes, right there!'

Her pussy clutched at his cock in spasms, and her body tightened in his arms. She threw her head back, her mouth open, but no sound emerged from her throat. Her tight, wet channel pulsed around his cock, and it felt so damn good he couldn't hold on; the temptation to cum inside her was overwhelming.

Her name left his lips as he came inside her; pulsing over and over.

The air left her body in a rush and she cried out, her chest flushed pink and her body trembling. He dropped kisses on her skin as he brought her down, slowing his thrusts until she relaxed against him.

'God, you're so good,' she whispered.

He smiled against her. 'And you didn't pee. Again.'

'Ass,' she laughed, shoving him playfully.

* * *

 **A/N: Short, sweet, but I hope it was satisfying!**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: The plot's on the boil again!**

 **No Theo or Lavender here; apologies for their brief entrance in chapter 23, but they will be back. Also, no Draco and Hermione here, either. But the plot must march on, regardless!**

 **My following description of Romania is a mix of different Romanian places. I've never been there, but it sounds jolly beautiful.**

 **TRIGGER: violent, non-consensual sex. The beginning and end of the scene is indicated in the text.**

* * *

 **Violent scene starts**

Morning.

Giorgia forced an eye open. It not being of much use, she eventually succeeded with the other.

The rest of the bed was empty.

The enthusiastic birdsong taking place outside the bedroom confirmed the apartment's empty silence.

Pansy was gone, her pug nose fresh on the scent of her quarry.

Nude, Giorgia slowly stretched, checking each limb and muscle for an estimation of its remaining function. Her thighs screamed and burned. Her internal muscles howled when she shifted her pelvis. She bit back a shuddering sob when she saw what state Pansy had left her breasts in. Her fingers fluttered to her throat. They confirmed what her internal muscles knew; it would be mottled with blue-black bruises.

Blood streaked the rumpled, once-white bedsheets.

Giorgia was an experimental masochist. It was what made her attractive to Pansy, who discovered that she loved inflicting pain. It was the second reason why Pansy approached her with a holiday task, the first being her living so closely to Blaise's current domicile: fuck a bloke with an enormous cock; make him spill his secrets. Gia's sweet, pretty pussy was more than up for the task, Pansy purred during nights at Beauxbatons, feeding her wet, dripping fingers inside her body.

After all, Pansy said sadly. Blaise treated me _so_ badly...

Gia swallowed it all. Begged for more.

Last night, Pansy started off passionately. She threw Gia on the bed and ravished her body, kissing, licking, pinching. Then it changed to pulling, biting... clawing...

'Please, Pansy,' Gia gasped, tears pricking her eyes as Pansy bit down on her nipple, 'it hurts.'

'Does it, my pet?' Pansy cooed, roughly parting Giorgia's thighs and ramming three fingers deep inside her.

Gia howled.

'But your pretty little cunt is so deliciously wet,' Pansy purred, stabbing them in and out. 'And you like it when it hurts.'

'N-no, I – oh my GODS!'

Gia's body betrayed her, and she convulsed over Pansy's fingers, coming harder than she'd ever come before.

Pansy smiled sweetly. 'Liar.'

She withdrew her soaked fingers and added a fourth. Back they went into Giorgia's soaking, hungry cunt.

Gia's orgasmic moan morphed into a scream. 'P-Pansy, please!' she begged. Tears fell down her cheeks. She tried to kick her way free, but with a simple command from Pansy, her ankles were tethered tightly to the bed.

Pansy's pleasant facade slipped. Ramming her fingers into Gia's cunt, she spat 'I know you love it, you little slut. Blaise's cock would have stretched you just like I'm doing now. I bet you begged him for it, didn't you? Is he a better lover than me?'

Shocked, scared, Giorgia stammered 'P-Pansy, he was' –

Pansy's fingers curled inward, and Giorgia came hard, squirting over Pansy's arm. She barely had enough breath in her to moan out loud, something that contained more pain than pleasure.

Pansy's lip curled. 'I just bet he loved it when you squirted all over him.'

Giorgia began to struggle in earnest. 'Pansy' –

'You know what? I'm tired of talking.' Pansy flicked her wand, and to Giorgia's horror, she felt cold fingers wrap around her throat. Then they began to tighten.

'Have you tried auto-erotic asphyxiation, darling?' Pansy asked, withdrawing her fingers. 'No? It's such fun. You're sure to love it.'

She waggled her dripping wet fingers at the terrified girl, desperately trying to rip invisible fingers from her throat.

Pansy blew her a kiss, then lined her fingers up at Giorgia's dripping cunt.

She viciously shoved her whole hand inside.

 **Violent scene ends**

* * *

Fresh tears pooled in Giorgia's eyes.

Pansy had punished her.

She got the relevant information from Blaise, sure. But her feeble denials about her feelings for Blaise were not believed.

Pansy had been rejected for Blaise.

And Pansy let her know, over a long and terrifying night, exactly how she felt about it.

Slowly, Giorgia turned on to her side and curled into the foetal position. She thought of Blaise. How he looked. How he smelled. How he tasted. How his body felt. The kind and caring words he said.

A folded piece of parchment lay on the pillow next to her.

With shaking fingers, she picked up the parchment and clumsily opened it with one hand.

Something fell out, but she ignored it in favour of Pansy's final words.

 _Gia,_

 _as the old Muggle cliché goes, by the time you read this, I'll be gone. But I'm torn inside, I really am. You got me the information I wanted, for which I am grateful. You're a wonderful fuck, maybe the best I'll ever have. But then you had to throw our friendship, our possible future_ _relationship,_ _on the rubbish heap and take up with that lying, cocksucking arsehole Zabini behind my back. And that, my dear, is something I cannot forgive._

 _I hope you and he reunite. And that he breaks your shallow, blackened, flobberworm-infested heart._

 _Pansy_

 _PS: In case you're harbouring fanciful ideas of stopping me, you'll find yourself somewhat... delayed._

Giorgia let the parchment flutter onto the pillow. She slowly swivelled her head to the mattress, where the enclosed item had rolled to.

It was her wand. Snapped in two.

It hurt too much to sob in anguish. So she just let the tears dribble down her face while she stared into space.

* * *

The Southern Carpathian Mountains were prime examples of the world's raw beauty. The massive, often desolate region was home to miles upon miles of tall, craggy, snow-capped mountains, lush, densely-forested hills and vast, hidden valleys where deep blue rivers wended their ageless way through.

Cities and townships were dotted here and there, and parts of the region swelled with tourists who skied in winter and avoided being chased by bears in summer, but the wizarding world's dragon sanctuary couldn't have picked a better place to cater to the needs of its legendary charges.

The region was also rich in minerals such as sulphur, or 'mother's milk' as the dragons know it. A part of the sanctuary contained mud volcanoes, crater-like domes that spewed up mineral-rich mud, gases and petroleum. Dragons went gaga over it. Of course, the pervading rotten-egg stink in the air made you want to lose your lunch the first time it assaulted your nostrils, but Charlie assured Ron he'd get used to it after a day or so.

He was right.

Bloody Charlie's always right.

The breath-taking scenery, majestic dragons and the all-over happy feeling you're supposed to get when you're doing good deeds could go hang, as far as Ron Weasley was concerned. When he realised just how far away the sanctuary was from civilisation, where the hot birds were, and when he understood that Charlie actually meant it when said he wasn't allowed to Floo to Bucharest to let off some steam, Ron's resentment of his exile grew.

The fact that his two housing options were either Romania or Azkaban was a fact that must have evaporated in all that steam he was building up.

That left the Muggle pub in the local village, an ancient spa town whose buildings were mostly falling apart, despite the health-related trade it still conducted, luring tourists in (who didn't mind the smell) to benefit from the mineral-rich, sulphur-laden waters.

The pub doubled as an accommodation venue for seasonal hikers, trampers and skiers. Its selection of sheltering abodes consisted of: a paddock out the back, where you could pitch your tent or park your caravan, a hostel where as many people slept in each room as you could cram bunks in; and a strip of basic studio rooms, each featuring a double bed, TV and tiny bathroom. As Ron started spending more and time in the valley, he got to know these rooms quite well.

Before he discovered the pub, and the bounteous beauties that lay within it, he slowly and resentfully learned the ins and outs of the dragon sanctuary, frequently having various parts of his exterior anatomy fried by the dragons, since he never properly listened to what his co-workers told him.

In fact, he was constantly shunted around from one worker to another, as each inevitably told Charlie – either in frustration or in tears – that they couldn't bear working with the self-entitled little shit any longer.

So, as busy as Charlie was with his usual duties, he nonetheless took his youngest brother under his wing and continued his instruction, drawing on vast reserves of patience he never knew he had.

When Charlie came back from London, Ron was outraged to discover that he'd been allocated a mobile jail-keeper in the form of Igor, a Romanian Auror who was tall in stature but short on hair and conversation.

'What the fuck do I need a bloody guard for?' Ron yelled while Charlie unpacked his gear in his apartment. 'Merlin, I'm sick of not being trusted around here!'

Charlie, still feeling the sting of Hermione's gentle rejection, flung his bag into a corner of his bedroom. 'And what, exactly, have you done since you got here that gives me the confidence to trust you?' he snapped. 'You're always late, you're often drunk, if you're not drunk, you're hungover, and you carry an attitude around that would put Atlas to shame!'

Ron chose to ignore the explicit accusations and relied on his Ol' Faithful – The Unfairness of His Exile. As he launched into yet another tirade about how he was only trying to defend Weasley honour, blah blah blah, Charlie sighed, picked up his wand and muffled Ron's whiny rant.

Ignoring Ron's eyes, which were bulging with rage over his rose-red cheeks, Charlie said 'I know you've been feeling boxed in, staying at the Sanctuary and not going anywhere else. So I've decided to let you have full travel privileges, if'– he eyeballed Ron – _'if_ you put in some decent work and at least try to hide your surly attitude.'

Ron's eyes lit up.

'And Igor goes with you.'

Ron's eyes narrowed.

'Or you stay here and do whatever the hell you want. Just don't piss off the dragons or the staff.'

Ron's shoulders slumped, and he nodded.

'Do we have an agreement?' Charlie asked.

Ron nodded, his unkempt red hair flopping about.

With some misgivings, Charlie released Ron from the _Silencio_.

Ron took a deep breath, ready to give Charlie a piece of his mind –

'Attitude,' warned Charlie calmly.

Ron pulled up. 'Does it start now?' he asked.

'Oh, yeah.'

Ron blew out a stream of air. 'Well. Best go see if Igor's up for a trip to the pub.'

Charlie raised an eyebrow.

'We won't be late back.'

* * *

Pansy was another person whose impression of the beautiful Romanian countryside was rather lacking in positive adjectives. She was a city girl, she decided, picking her way unsteadily over the unpaved driveway to some gods-forsaken pub out in the middle of bloody nowhere.

She eyed up the cheerful, rather ramshackle pub entrance with barely disguised disgust, freezing out some Muggle males who appreciated the floaty, strapless summer dress she wore that flowed over her not-insignificant curves to distracting effect.

In response to their nudges and catcalls, she sent them a glare that would have frozen their bollocks off, were she permitted to perform magic in front of these slack-jawed yokels, and strode angrily into the pub in her six-inch Louboutin heels.

Eyes adjusting to the comparative gloom of indoors, she cast her haughty glare around the large room, looking for a certain redhead that practically lived here, day in, day out, she was told.

A flaxen-haired waitress ambled up to her, popping her bubble gum. 'So, you want anything?' she said in the language of her people.

Pansy looked down her pug nose at the serving wench. 'Get away from me,' she spat.

The waitress, who also spoke English, wasn't offended by the hoity-toity English bitch. It meant she could scuttle back to the kitchen and continue flirting with the Chef, a dark and mysterious young Russian with a forty-a-day cigarette habit and very fast fingers.

Alone again, Pansy's laser eyes finally zeroed in on her target, sitting at a table in the middle of the room. He was surrounded by young women and men, the latter who obviously didn't mind picking over their redheaded mate's leavings. A tall, bald and grey-skinned, black-suited man, who stuck out from the rest of the table's occupants like a dog's ding-dong, sniffed suspiciously at a cup of coffee. His arm twitched slightly, as if it was looking for something that had just been chopped off.

Pansy raised a delicate eyebrow. And not at the slug in the suit.

How interesting.

Despite all evidence to the contrary at Hogwart's, this Weasley's become _hot._

* * *

Rebellion obviously suited Ronald Weasley, Pansy thought as she sultrily weaved her way through the tables, dodging the sticky fingers of patrons swigging beers and chowing down on revolting-looking fried trout that she presumed was a local delicacy. His hair was longer than it was when she last saw him, or so she presumed – she never paid attention to him at school – and it looked like it had somehow gotten even redder.

His right arm was tattooed with brightly-coloured ink. Dragons and griffins twirled, dipped and snaked down his arm; obviously charmed to remain still while he consorted with Muggles.

He filled out his t-shirt very nicely indeed. His pecs were toned and his bicep bulged most satisfactorily when he picked up his pint.

His face was still gormless and Weasley-like; pity. Still, with what she had planned, she didn't need to look at his head.

Or, at least – not _that_ head.

* * *

The Weasley-Parkinson reunion did not go as Pansy intended.

'Weasley,' she said imperiously as she approached the table. Too late, she forgot she was supposed to try and seduce the stupid twat into co-operation, not order him about as the pathetically poor piss-taking example of pure-bloodedness that he was.

Everyone at the table looked up at her, except for Igor, who had by now overcome whatever reservations he had about his coffee and was swigging it back with great enthusiasm. Pansy stood still while the table occupants looked her up and down, sizing her up (the girls) or ogling her figure (the boys).

It would be fair to say that Ronald was not overwhelmed with fond remembrance as he took in the terribly well-dressed but terribly over-dressed witch, now casting shade over his table. Especially this witch, who, if the snatches of rumours he heard were to be believed, was responsible for his being sent to dragon purgatory.

His lip curled into a sneer. 'Parkinson,' he spat. 'Are you lost?'

Pansy forced her lips into a smile. 'Unfortunately, no,' she replied. 'I'm here to discuss a proposal. One that will be to your advantage.'

Ron snorted. 'I'd rather eat bat dung that deal with a snake like you,' he snarled. 'Fuck off.' With that, he turned his head and applied his well-muscled arm to the waist of a sultry local with straight blond hair down to her arse, which was barely covered by a pair of strategically-ripped denim cut-offs.

Turd, thought Pansy. Instead, she sighed. 'Of course, you're _free_ to do as you wish,' she said airily.

Ron stiffened somewhat. And not in a pleasurable way.

'If you want to stay in this isolated outpost for the rest of your life, and not get revenge on Malfoy for getting to know your sister in almost all the biblical ways' –

Ron set his pint on the table, released the blonde and stood up. 'I'm listening,' he scowled.

Pansy fluttered her eyelashes. 'Can you recommend a place that has some semblance of privacy? As lovely as your... _friends_ look, I'm not about to engage in delicate discussions with them earwigging, you understand.'

'Yeah, I'll organise a private room.' To his fan club, he said in a clumsy mix of English and Romanian 'Sorry, I've got work to do.'

The girls were both bereft and pissed (how dare this pug-nosed bitch waltz in on those ridiculous shoes and steal their - omigod are those Louboutins?!), but the boys took his departure well (now they get a chance with the birds).

Igor stood and weaved his way through the throng towards Ron.

Pansy's nose flared. 'Don't tell me you've got a bodyguard?' she asked Ron. 'I refuse to discuss my proposal in front of a third party.'

Ron looked like he had the beginnings of a headache. 'Igor, mate,' he said, when the suit approached, 'Pansy and I need some privacy, yeah?'

The bilingual Auror blinked and said nothing.

Ron rolled his eyes. 'Look, Pansy's an old girlfriend from school, and we'd like some _privacy_ ' – he emphasised the word while nodding at Pansy's breasts – 'to catch up, if you know what I mean?'

Igor availed himself of a professional glance at Pansy's assets. She did her best to refrain from punching him.

Ron lowered his voice. 'Just put a tracking spell on me, okay? I swear I'm not going to leave the property. And if I do, by all means, come at me with your wand blazing. Just take a seat and have another coffee. My treat.'

Igor's slate eyes had a go at lighting up with enthusiasm, and he headed to the bar to place his order.

Ron rolled his eyes. 'Right, let's get out of here,' he muttered.

Pansy couldn't agree more. She could feel the miasma of fried trout, cheap alcohol and criminal fashion standards seep into her pores. It just wouldn't do.

* * *

 **A/N: We're back into 'Treacherous' with a capital T, now!**

 **Apologies if anyone found the first scene hard to read. I don't plan on making a repeat of it, but there is a method to my madness, if you'll bear with me.**

 **Thanks everyone for reading, you give this story life and zest. xoxo**


	26. Chapter 26

Ensconced in one of the pub's studio rooms, Pansy surveyed the interior with an expression that made her pug nose look even more pug.

'Not up to Her Majesty's standards, is it?' Ron sneered.

Pansy executed a perfect eye-roll. 'I should think that would be perfectly obvious.'

'Why not? The way you're tarted up, isn't a bed all you need to conduct your business?'

Steam practically poured out of Pansy's ears. Honestly, what a philistine. This was a Ravyn la Croix strapless dress she was wearing – the wizarding world's answer to Prada! Still, what can one expect from an upbringing such as his?

Biting back a seething retort, she snapped 'I only fuck who I want to fuck. Not to 'seal a deal,' so to speak.'

Ron was unimpressed. He switched the TV on, but there didn't appear to be anything more interesting on the box than the she-snake in the room, so he switched it off again. 'Why should I work with you, anyway?' he snapped. 'It's your bloody fault that I'm stuck here in this dump.'

She sniggered, a rather unladylike noise for her. 'I think you'll find it was your own temper, and your chronic inability to rein it in, that's landed you tits-deep in dragon dung, not me.'

Ron bared his teeth, looking rather leonine, she thought, impressed despite herself. 'If I'm caught doing something stupid, especially illegal, I'm going to be spending my time in the company of lots more Igors in Azkaban. I may stink of dragon dung, but at least I have some measure of freedom here.'

Gods, Ron thought. Charlie would cream his pants if he heard me now.

Pansy wasn't deterred. 'Don't you want to see Malfoy pay for spoiling your dear little sister's reputation, if not her virtue? She told me about the things she and Malfoy got up to – or down to, I should say. It appears he has quite the imagination when it comes to sex. I mean, I consider myself to be quite the connoisseur, despite my tender years, but not even _I_ had heard of half the' -

'All right! All right! Shut up, for Merlin's sake!' Ron stomped over to the window and yanked the wonky wooden sash up. With his wand, he muffled the room, lest any English-speaking Muggles meandered past. He gulped in some fresh air.

Pansy smiled slowly. It wasn't a pretty sight. 'Have I hit a nerve? Still a sexual greenhorn, Weasley?'

In control again, he merely smirked and lit up a Muggle cigarette. 'Why don't you just tell me what your plan is, then I'll laugh in your face, you get shitty with me and then you can stomp off on your safety-hazard shoes, all right?'

'Fine,' she replied. 'You'll be smoking out of the other side of your face once I'm done.'

* * *

After some time and quite a few cigarettes, Ron leaned his head back against the bedframe, where he'd eventually settled while listening to Pansy outline her diabolical plan. It might have taken a while to get through, but it was no hardship. Pansy's breasts heaved animatedly as she emphasised a point or countered his objections. It was pretty obvious she wasn't wearing a bra under the light summer fabric. Her nipples seemed to harden more and more as they brushed against the material.

Ron felt his cock harden inside his lived-in jeans. For a moment, he felt guilty, as if he was betraying the memory of the woman he wanked to every night since she dumped him from a great height in Hogwarts' Great Hall. Then he felt revolted. This was Pansy bloody Parkinson, the coldest of the Slytherin ice queens ever to darken Hogwarts' door. Then he returned to feeling horny.

Pansy's grating voice interrupted his thoughts. 'So? Are we in agreement?' she barked from the other side of the bed, where she lolled, one shoe dangling from a manicured big toe.

Ron thought. As far as plans went, he personally thought it was way over the top and unnecessarily complex. He was a hit-a-person-with-a-spell-and-drag-them-back-to-his cave type of bloke. But her plan had the advantage of enabling him access to England, which even he was beginning to wonder would ever happen. And England was where he wanted to be. He'll have to tweak one or two of her strategies to his advantage, but what she won't know won't hurt her, he thought dismissively.

'Yeah, all right,' he replied laconically.

Good enough, she supposed.

'Well, now that business is concluded,' she drawled, 'may I just say that those tattoos on your arm look really rather wonderful on you.'

Ron raised a wary eyebrow. Is this cold fish flirting with him?

She prowled slowly across the bed. 'Do they go across your back?'

He silently removed his t-shirt and dropped it on the questionably clean floor. He intended to cover both arms and his back in tattoos, but right now he'd just accomplished one arm up to the shoulder. Tendrils of colour fluttered over his trapezius.

Pansy ran her fingers, uninvited, up his arm. Ron's wood turned to stone. 'Excellent work, Weasley,' she purred.

Still silent, he watched as her hand trailed over his collarbone and down his pecs. As it tested out the hardness of his recently-obtained stomach muscles and didn't look to stop, he said 'I'm not a gentle lover, Parkinson. If I fucked a skinny witch like you, you'd shatter into pieces beneath me.'

Pansy's pussy flooded. Raw hard sex was the only kind of sex she liked. Wandlessly, the zipper of her dress headed south, revealing her bare breasts. Ron noted the shadows of bruises on them, made by her own fingers. His erection rubbed painfully against the zipper of his jeans.

She looked him in the eye. 'Give it your best shot, Weasley,' she goaded.

For a moment, he looked at her without comment. Then the hand of his tattooed arm opened his jeans and pulled his erection free.

She practically came right on the spot. The skin under the head of his cock was pierced with a small barbell. And as for the size of his prize? Well. All that good homestyle cooking certainly paid off.

Without warning, Ron's arm shot out. He grabbed Pansy by her hair and pushed her towards his groin. She barely had time to open her mouth and take a breath before his cock plunged inside.

* * *

Later that evening, Charlie heard a knock on his residence door. Opening it, he was surprised to find a chastened-looking Ronald scuffing his feet and asking if he could come in for a minute.

'Sure,' Charlie replied and stepped aside to let him in. He nearly closed the door on Silent Igor, obeying Charlie's instructions to the letter. He was feeling a tad guilty for letting Mr Weasley Junior out of his direct sight while he made off with that black-haired tramp.

Still, the least said about that the better, he thought. Especially since Mr Weasley Junior appears to have had a personality transplant. For the better.

Ron stood in the middle of Charlie's small living room and rubbed his head sheepishly. 'Er, it's been pointed out to me what an arse I've been since I've been here,' he said. 'And before that. And it's no-one's fault I'm where I am. It's all mine.' He trailed off.

Charlie was a little surprised, to say the least. He glanced at Igor, who shrugged enigmatically.

Still, having not been born yesterday, Charlie was understandably cautious.

He crossed to his drinks cabinet (part of his bookshelf, the rest of which was crammed with books on dragon rearing, dragon keeping, dragon mating, dragon anatomy, dragon – well, you get the idea. Pouring a couple of Firewhiskys, then remembering Igor and pouring a third, he sent the glasses wafting through the air to their recipients. 'That's great to hear, Ron,' he said neutrally. 'I look forward to seeing your words backed up by actions, of course.'

Ron grinned. 'Of course!' he said enthusiastically. 'Just watch me!'

Charlie and Ron clinked their glasses. Igor raised his glass in acknowledgement, and they all drank to better times ahead.


	27. Chapter 27

**Um. Lemon. A whopper of a lemon.**

 **Okay, gotta go. See you at the end of the chapter.**

* * *

 **Mid-October, six weeks after the end of the holidays**

Blaise tasted Hermione's mouth with force. Draco was right; she was intoxicating. Like sunshine and roses. 'Gods,' he gritted, pulling his hands through her hair, anchoring her head so she was at just the right angle for him to explore. His already-hard cock hardened further when she moaned, tangling her tongue with his, desperate to taste him, too.

He pulled away; but only just, breathing hard, looking behind her at the young blonde man who'd just removed the last of his clothes in the corner of the bedroom. The smile on Draco's face was hard, but his erection was evident. He applied his hand to it while he walked towards them.

Hermione wrapped her hands around Blaise's neck, but she turned her head to Draco. Her pupils were huge with arousal and her hair fell over her shoulders in a dishevelled mass. She looked like every boy wizard's ideal wet dream.

Draco stepped behind his still-clothed girlfriend, fitting his body against hers. Gathering up her hair with one hand, he put his lips to her neck, sucking hard, marking.

He may be sharing her, this one time. But Blaise had better not misunderstand: she belonged to Draco.

The words didn't need to be said.

Besides, Hermione would throttle Draco if she heard him talk about her with such possessive language.

She tilted her head back on a moan, and Draco raised her arms up, stripping her of her shirt and bra. At the same time, Blaise deftly unzipped her skirt and worked it down her hips. He took his time with her panties, pulling them slowly down over her buttocks and legs, trailing his lips over her stomach and pelvis.

Once she was bare, Draco picked her up and moved to the bed. He laid her down and climbed on with her, fingers delving in between her legs.

Blaise moved closer, but didn't climb into the bed. For now, he played the voyeur, watching Draco spear his fingers into Hermione's soaking core.

Draco leaned over her trembling body so they were face to face. Blaise watched him kiss her, a harsh movement that left her gasping. He looked into her eyes. His lips moved, and his long fingers sped up, fucking her cunt, making her body spasm and beg for release.

His fingers slapped wetly against her flesh, and Blaise wrapped his own around his throbbing cock, stroking it hard.

'Draco!' Hermione moaned between clenched teeth, and her body torqued off the bed. He increased the pressure between her legs, and Hermione's voice broke on a scream. Fluid gushed copiously from her pussy, and Blaise found himself salivating.

Any moment now...

Draco kissed Hermione, gently this time, brushing her wild hair back and smiling on a whisper.

They both turned their heads and looked at Blaise.

He prowled towards the bed and climbed on while Draco pulled Hermione back towards him. Blaise lay on his back, his heavy cock almost pointing at the ceiling. He beckoned Hermione forward.

'Now you get to taste a real man's cock,' he smirked.

Draco gave him the fingers, but Hermione crawled towards Blaise with hunger written on her face. On her knees between his legs, she reached for his enormous erection, her eyes growing wide as she compared its size with her small hand.

'Suck it,' Blaise growled. He was hungry for her touch.

Draco smirked as she quirked her head to the side, as if figuring out how to tackle a challenging Runes equation. When she took a breath and buried the head of Blaise's cock in her mouth, he grabbed her hips and thrust his own cock into her come-soaked channel, as far as it could go.

Hermione's moan sent Blaise's thick cock reverberating in her mouth, and he, in turn, let out a moan of raw desire. 'That's it, _bella_ ,' he gritted. 'Take a little more...'

Draco set a hypnotising pace, designed to keep Hermione aroused but not enough to make her come. Each time he thrust into her cunt, Hermione inched further down Blaise's phenomenal cock, swallowing more of him until both men were secretly rather impressed.

They exchanged silent looks, and Draco increased his pace and force, one hand gripping Hermione's flesh each time he pulled her onto him. He magically lubricated his other thumb, fingers and the tight, puckered entrance to her arse. She dropped her hand from Blaise's cock, using both to steady herself on the bed and absorb Draco's movements.

She greedily applied her tongue to Blaise's shaft, her throat working as she tried hard to take him in. Saliva spilled from her lips and laced his flesh.

Blaise's fingers itched to grab her curls, force her head right to the root of his enormous erection, but Draco would crucify him if he caused her any harm. Besides, watching her lovely breasts shake under Draco's onslaught, her mouth gobble as much of his cock as she could take – yeah, he had enough to be getting on with.

Suddenly, Hermione pulled off Blaise's cock, a string of saliva linking their bodies. Wide-eyed, she stared at Blaise, but he was willing to bet she didn't see him.

'That's it, love,' Draco grunted, sweat trickling down his back from the force of his strokes. 'Show him how you come on my cock.' He'd breached the entrance to her arse with his thumb, and now replaced that with two of his long fingers.

Blaise reached forward and palmed her breasts, kneading them, teasing her hard nipples.

'Oh my gods!' Hermione moaned, her whole body trembling. She would have collapsed onto the bed if Blaise wasn't conveniently holding her chest.

He put his lips to hers. 'Come for your man, _bella_ ,' he whispered. 'Soon it will be my cock that your beautiful body will be coming over.'

Gasping for breath, her eyes briefly focussed on Blaise's gorgeous face – then she orgasmed violently. Blaise angled her face and slammed his lips on hers, swallowing her cries. Draco swore to himself as her cunt gripped his cock with an almost diabolical force.

Eventually, the trio unlinked and they lay on the large bed.

* * *

The boys kept their cocks hard with regular strokes as they waited for Hermione to come back to earth and catch her breath.

The moment Blaise had been waiting for had arrived. While he certainly appreciated Hermione's mouth and the attention she gave his cock, he needed to lose himself in her body. It had been so long...

Draco brushed her hair back from her sweaty forehead. 'You okay, love?' he asked gently.

She smiled and kissed him slowly. 'Definitely.'

Then she turned her gaze to Blaise, and his cock spasmed in anticipation.

She straddled his hips, brushing her wet core up and down his cock, lubricating it.

It was bliss.

It was agony.

' _Bella,'_ Blaise groaned, 'I need to be inside you. I can't take any more.'

After a little hesitation, Hermione collected up his heavy cock in one hand and pulled it upright, underneath her dripping core. Slowly, she engulfed the large, bulbous head, staring at Blaise in wonder as her muscles adjusted to the intrusion.

'Fuck, yes,' Blaise hissed. Gods, if there was anything better than a beautiful woman with a tight, wet cunt sliding down on his knob, he didn't want to know.

'Oh my fucking God,' Hermione moaned, sinking down on his shaft, closer and closer to his body.

He marvelled. He didn't think he'd heard the former Gryffindor Bookworm swear. The dirty words spilling from her lips – that until a short time ago were wrapped around his cock...

Ah, yes. The good life is very good, indeed.

At last, his flesh connected with Hermione, sweat shimmering on both their bodies. Her face was a study in emotion. Draco put a hand around her waist, holding her in place while his fingers surged in and out of her arse. She was ready to take him, but he wanted her to become used to Blaise's monster cock.

Or maybe he was having second thoughts.

Blaise crooked a finger at Hermione. 'Come here, _bellissima,'_ he said gently, smiling.

Shakily, she leaned forward, climbing up his muscled torso on her hands.

He kissed her, a beautiful, gentle kiss, while his hands crept to her hips. He rocked her back and forward over his flesh, each movement utterly sublime.

'Good girl,' he whispered.

Draco brushed his spare hand across the small of her back, giving her his silent support. But Blaise didn't miss the malevolent look Draco sent over her head.

Yeah, yeah, Blaise mentally telegraphed back. I haven't forgotten all the very imaginative ways you will emasculate me if I hurt your woman.

He watched a myriad of expressions trace over Hermione's face as she rocked back and forth. My gods, she's fantas –

He shut that thought down before it could take root and develop into a Draco-sized problem.

By now, Hermione had taken all of him inside her tight body and sped up her undulating movements. 'My gods, Blaise,' she moaned.

'You like it, _cara mia?'_

She tried to speak, but speech was becoming impossible. Flicking her damp hair out of the way, she nodded instead.

'Good,' he smiled. His hands tightened on her hips. 'I'm going to fuck you now, kitten, nice and fast, until you explode and cover my cock in your cream.'

Hermione moaned again, and Blaise swore that her succulent cunt became even wetter. He closed his eyes, centering himself.

'B-Blaise?'

His eyes opened. The raw lust, the agonising need that swirled through them made Hermione gasp and put Draco on the brink of calling time out.

With no further warning, Blaise raised his hips and fucked his best friend's girlfriend as vigorously as he could.

* * *

It was everything Blaise thought it would be. When Hermione came on his cock, her body shook so hard that her curls rocked up and down, caught up in their own dance. Her voice cracked on a scream as she flung her head to the ceiling, but her cunt – oh gods, her divine cunt – that was what had Blaise gasping and reciting potions backwards in his head in a desperate attempt to stave off his orgasm. Her gorgeous body, that fitted his shaft like the most expensive of gloves, gripped and released it over and over as she rode out her orgasm over him.

She collapsed along his body, torso to torso. He lifted her face for a kiss, an intense kiss that took her breath and her senses.

Until –

Draco moved behind her, and – planting a kiss to the exposed nape of her neck – breached the tight entrance hidden between her buttocks and slowly eased in.

She stiffened; then lifted her head to the ceiling and howled.

Both men froze.

Her body rippled; then she snapped her hips, making Draco fill her arse completely.

Both men wanted to go slowly; to let her get used to the full invasion of her body, slowly work in tandem to bring her up to speed, so to speak. But Hermione was having none of that. She took a few experimental movements with her hips, feeling both their cocks overwhelm her senses as one surged inside when the other retreated.

She felt totally filled, so lucky to be fucking two gorgeous men at the same time, and – her cheeks reddened – completely wanton, slutty and _dirty._

God knew how it was possible, but she just became even more turned on. Blaise, lying in front of her, saw the blush and felt the liquid velvet of her pussy around his cock. It was now or never.

'Fuck us both, kitten,' he growled. 'Hard. Fast. Now.'

Hermione leaned forward, bouncing her pert little derriere on Blaise's thighs, engulfing his cock whole. Draco anchored his hands on her hips and drove inside hard. Breathlessly, he whispered something in Hermione's ear that made her moan, then she pulled herself up and arched her back, wrapping her arms around his neck and spearing her fingers through his sweat-soaked hair.

In a trance, Blaise watched her breasts bounce up and down while she rode him. She was nearly sobbing in ecstasy now; demanding more from them in a voice that spiralled higher and higher.

Then Draco grabbed her hair with one hand and pulled her head back. Hermione's cunt convulsed hard around Blaise. It was so delicious. He knew he couldn't go on for much longer.

'Where do you want Blaise's come?' he demanded in her ear.

'I-inside me,' she gasped. 'You both. Inside – oimgod, Draco' –

Her pussy gripped Blaise's cock as she experienced the most intense orgasm of her life. Letting go, Blaise gritted his teeth and bit out _'Sto Sborrando!'_ as he finally gave in to his body's insistent demands. As he came inside Hermione in intense waves, he found himself holding onto the bed sheets in his fists, certain that he was going to fly away.

Draco came last, but only shortly after Blaise. He surged three times, hard, into her arse, filling it with thick ropes of his come. 'Fuck, woman!' he cried out.

When he was spent, he wrapped his arms around his exhausted girlfriend, and slowly lowered her to Blaise's torso. There, Blaise and Hermione kissed while Draco carefully withdrew and lay down, with shaking arms, next to them.

Hermione leaned over and kissed him, a long, slow kiss full of love.

Their heartrates and their heavy breathing slowly subsided into sleep.

* * *

Blaise sat up in bed, a cold sweat chilling his dark, naked skin.

He was in his bedroom. Alone.

Slytherin's tits, he'd had another dirty dream. Another!

He glanced down at the sheet that draped his body to his hips. And, naturally, he was as hard as Michaelangelo's bloody David again. Little surprise. Ever since he'd moved into Draco and Hermione's flat, he'd been accidentally listening, and in some cases accidentally walking in on the loved-up couple practically climbing into each other's skin. Or prospecting for gold down each other's throats. With their tongues.

Sex. Sex. SEX! Everywhere!

And none of it for him, because Giorgia was -

He scrabbled for the bottle of Firewhiskey by his bed and took one more hard pull, only to find that the bloody thing was empty. He collapsed back onto his bed and let the bottle roll to wherever the hell it wanted to. Thank Merlin Draco insisted on having a house-elf for the flat, despite Hermione's overly-principled principles.

So, yeah. He was shacked up with the most loved-up couple in the entire wizarding fucking world. What he deemed to be rather cute, if not a little sexy, in Italy, was now driving him up the gods-forsaken wall.

But let's back up the bus a bit.

The plan, as Draco had in mind when he told Hermione that he presumed they'd live together come their first university term, was that they would share accommodations while at university, since they'd otherwise be wasting time bed-hopping in and out of each other's flats every damn day. When Draco mentioned this to Blaise, Blaise thought it was a jolly good idea. You know, pooling resources, paying one lot of rent instead of two... sharing one bed instead of two...

Oh, yeah. Can't see a thing wrong with that.

When he (a little nervously) raised the subject with Giorgia (for they'd only been together a short while) he was thrilled when her eyes lit up and she impulsively hugged him, whispering 'Yes!' into his ear over and over again. She seemed almost delirious with excitement.

And then she went and fucking disappeared.

Blaise searched for her. Dear gods, how he searched. Practically tore magical Lucca apart, but not even her worried parents could help. He even braved the frosty almost-politeness of the Lombardis, to be told that they had not seen her. He doubted they would have told him anything anyway, even if she had just left the room to use their facilities.

Despondent, on the brink of pulling out of studying altogether, Draco and Hermione rescued him ('kidnapped' was Blaise's term) and offered him the spare bedroom in their enormous flat, just until Giorgia reappeared, you understand.

Yeah. He understood.

Giorgia was gone, he was alone, and the loved-up couple had forgotten to silence their bedroom. Again.

He pounded on the shared wall with both fists. 'WILL YOU TWO KEEP IT DOWN, FOR THE SAKE OF FUCKING MERLIN!' he bellowed.

* * *

Hermione paused, mid-bounce, on Draco's erection. 'I thought you told me you silenced the room!' she whispered angrily.

His mind on other things, Draco hazily glanced at his discarded wand, on the other side of the bedroom. 'I thought I had,' he murmured. He raised his hips encouragingly up and down a few times, as Hermione seemed to have forgotten what to do.

She wrapped her legs under his thighs and crossed her arms. Even if Draco was making her bounce, he wasn't receiving the benefit of it.

'I'm sorry, darling,' Draco wheedled. 'I'll remember next time.' He raised his hands to tickle her nipples, but Hermione deftly slid off his impressive pole and burrowed under the bedsheets.

Draco stared at her, aghast. 'But we're not done!'

He received a raised, cold shoulder. 'I am.'

Draco poked at his erection with a finger. It wasn't going anywhere in a hurry.

'But darling,' he said desperately. 'I have _needs.'_

A lovely arm snaked out from the sheets and pointed to the bathroom. 'Off you go, then.'

His mouth fell open.

As he headed, rather gingerly, to the bathroom for a most unsatisfactory wank, he grumbled to himself 'That Zabini will be sorted out. If it's the last thing I do.'

* * *

 **A/N Yes, you're right, and I heartily apologise. A few chapters ago I said I wouldn't threesome, and now I have threesomed. But only in a dream, you understand. Everyone's still the same way they were before.**

 **Why? Mainly because I write fanfic to practice my writing skills, and I've written pretty much every sex scene under the sun except multiples. So, when inspiration for a multiple socked me in the jaw, I used my writer's prerogative and wrote. I understand there may be some upset readers, and I'm sorry if that's the case. But I kind of call the shots on this story, sorta...**

 **Anyway, for those carrying on: next chapter is about university. What are our friends up to? And where did Giorgia go?**


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: Abject apologies for the lateness of this chapter, and many thank yous for your comments on chapter 27! I'd chewed through a few fingernails worrying that I'd sent off most of the readers, but when the muse demands that a threesome is to be written, it doesn't listen to my arguments, I'm afraid. Even if the previous chapter occurred six weeks before this chapter!**

 **I may have to go shopping for a new muse...**

 **Lemon below!**

* * *

 **Braedwitton University (6 weeks before chapter 27 – don't worry, it will all work out eventually)**

Braedwitton University was the largest, oldest and most esteemed of the Wizarding World's universities. Located on a beautiful but exposed stretch of coastal land in Cornwall, its massive stone towers and walls appeared to rise out of the very cliffs it had stood on for thousands of years. Within its walls stood the university itself, stretching around the enormous grounds, with each School taking up residence in one of the four massive stone towers.

Behind the castle, shrouded in misty confusion for the Muggles (like the castle itself) was the bustling wizarding township of Cadwur, where staff and students shopped, relaxed and lived. Draco nodded approvingly at the town's Quidditch pitch, located within a brisk walking distance of the main street.

The first thing Draco and Hermione did when they got to Cadwur was rush excitedly into their shared flat, anxious to see what it looked like. Both sets of parents followed inside in a statelier fashion, Mr and Mrs Granger still looking askance at the cold patrician features of Lucius Malfoy. Thankfully, Narcissa was thrilled to meet them and they formed a friendly trio, so Lucius was left to lurk and scowl and sulk by himself.

'Oh, it's fantastic!' Hermione gasped, staring up at the flat's enormous recessed ceilings with exposed black beams, scarred ancient floorboards, and, of course, the enormous slate fireplace taking pride of place at the end of the living room. She twirled around, staring up at the ceiling and elaborate iron candelabra.

'My goodness, what a lovely view!' Jean Granger marvelled, staring out of the large French windows and onto the nearby forestland that surrounded most of the town. 'Narcissa, it's so generous of you to loan the kids one of your family properties.'

A snort harrumphed from the kitchen, into which Lucius had wandered by mistake.

Narcissa ignored him. 'Not at all! It's just a cosy little flat from the Black property portfolio,' she blushed, emphasising 'Black' loud enough for it to travel to the kitchen. 'But when Draco mentioned he and Hermione were looking for a place to stay when they attended university, I immediately thought of this flat.' She turned to Draco. 'Do you like it, dear?'

Draco, who was propping up a dizzy Hermione, said 'It's perfect, Mother. Thank you.'

'We're going to love living here, Narcissa,' Hermione beamed, addressing a tall and elegant pot plant in a corner. An amused Draco turned her around to face his mother.

'Thank you for being understanding about us living together,' Draco said to Hermione's parents. He could have sworn Jean shot Andrew a look under her lashes, but he certainly wasn't going to point it out.

'In our world, co-habitation is very common,' replied Andrew cheerfully. 'And we trust Hermione to make responsible decisions. Don't we, love?' he asked, looking at his wife.

Jean smiled with her teeth.

Narcissa clasped her hands together, entranced. 'It is really that common?' she asked. 'I've often wondered if some of our wizarding traditions were a little stuffy' –

'HARRUMPH!' came a rejoinder from what Draco assumed was one of the two bedrooms.

Narcissa rolled her eyes. 'Ignore him. As far as I'm concerned, Draco and Hermione are young but intelligent adults who are mature for their age. Besides, it's common practice in this world to marry at eighteen, sometimes even younger' –

Jean's eyebrows shot up and her glance zeroed in on Hermione's (now ringless) ring finger. Did she merely dream that she saw an emerald ring on her daughter's finger a few weeks ago?

-'so as far as I'm concerned, they're of the age to learn all about the ups – and downs – of co-habitation.'

'I strenuously object to this arrangement!' Lucius thundered, striding down the hallway into the living room, his cane striking the floor with menace. With a flick of his head, his mane of silver blond hair settled back perfectly, and arrogantly, over his shoulders.

Jean and Andrew took a step back to the French doors.

'If they are to live together, they must be married!' Lucius snapped. 'I will not have my only son bring this family's name into disrepute!' He eyeballed his wife. 'What will the neighbours think?'

Hermione peeled Draco's fingers off his wand.

'Oh, stop being such a hypocrite!' Narcissa snapped. 'How many girls had you slept with before you married me?'

Lucius's alabaster skin turned an interesting shade of green. 'Ah, well' –

'Because I happen to know for a fact that you slept your way through all of the senior Slytherin girls at Hogwarts, not to mention all the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Whether you deigned to expose yourself to a Gryffindor' –

'All, right, all right! I concede,' Lucius said tiredly, his posture deflating some. 'But I will be directing any and all complaints about our son's licentious behaviour to you, my dear,' he added tartly.

Narcissa beamed. 'Thank you, darling.'

Draco was torn between grudging admiration for his old man's past stallion-like qualities and revulsion for his old man's past stallion-like qualities. Meanwhile, Hermione had skipped off with her Mum to see the bedrooms and bathroom.

'Well, thanks, Father,' he said dryly. 'I'll do my best not to drag the Malfoy name any further into the mud than it is already' –

'JESUS CHRIST ON THE CROSS!'

Draco, Narcissa and Andrew practically leapt into the air with fright when they heard Hermione's off-stage soprano shriek. Lucius, however, merely studied his impeccable shirt cuffs. His face was a study in deadpan.

Draco, Narcissa and Andrew bolted down the hallway to the flat's vast bathroom... and gazed in horror at what they found.

Nearly every surface of the room was coated in great big globs of mould, mildew, algae and slime. Underneath all this horrible goo, an even worse decorating disaster faced them: the floor, loo, storage and vanity were bedecked in puke-yellow shagpile carpet, and the bath, shower and windows were swathed in an eye-watering lurid pink, black and lime-green pattern that instantly made you cross-eyed and seasick if you glanced at them. And to top it all off, sleazy-looking cherubs clawed their way free of the walls, undeterred by their slimy costumes, and burst into either snide laughter or bawdy limericks whenever one approached the loo, shower or bath.

'Could stand to lose a few pounds, m'dear!' one of them cackled to Jean.

Jean held her hand out to Hermione. 'Give me your wand, darling.'

'Mum!'

Meanwhile, Narcissa, who knew exactly what state the bathroom should be in, and it definitely wasn't this vomit-fest, smiled apologetically at the others. 'I'm so terribly sorry,' she said sweetly, the hostess with the mostess, as always. 'Please excuse me.'

She strode to the bathroom door. 'LUCIUS ABRAXAS MALFOY!'

* * *

'Fine, dear, I accept that the cherubs may have been a tad over the top,' Lucius murmured from the living room ceiling, whereupon he was suspended upside-down. Jean, Andrew and Hermione stared at Lucius, slowly revolving in a circle a number of metres above them, and at Narcissa, who was standing nonchalantly with her wand in one hand, pointed at Lucius, and inspecting the manicured fingernails on her other hand.

Draco seethed with impotent rage. His wand was in Hermione's safekeeping.

'Pardon, dear?' Narcissa asked innocently.

Lucius cleared his throat. 'I admit that it was short-sighted of me to redecorate Draco and Hermione's bathroom without asking for their input first,' he replied evenly.

Draco ground his teeth. Even when the bastard's one hundred per cent in the wrong, he still tries to twist the facts to make him look good!

Narcissa yawned delicately. 'And...?' she prompted.

Lucius sighed. 'And I humbly apologise for my actions and beg their pardon. May I come down now, dear?'

He winced as a mini fireball shot past his face and singed one of his gorgeous silver locks.

'And...?' Narcissa repeated with steel in her voice.

Lucius's next sigh seemed to generate from his very toes. ' _And_ I will put right all that has been amended,' he said heavily. 'Given that I used such complicated charms, it's only right that I' –

'That won't be necessary, thank you.'

Hermione's clear voice rang out, and Draco's heart sank. Oh, gods. He had to go and say 'complicated charms,' didn't he?

Hermione was upstanding, hands on hips, looking firmly up at Lucius. 'We'll remove the charms, if that's all the same to you, Mr Malfoy.'

'Are you sure?' Narcissa asked curiously.

'Yeah. Are you sure?' asked Draco, failing to keep the dread out of his voice.

'Of course!' Hermione replied with confidence. 'Draco and I are skilled charm-casters. I'm sure we can put everything right.'

Twirling slowly above her, Lucius smirked but refrained from snorting. Not wise, in his current and tenuous position.

'Well, if that's what you'd like, dear,' Narcissa said, and brought Lucius back down to earth and the right way up. 'But if you strike any problems,' she added, 'just Floo me and I'll extract the necessary information.' She finished that sentence with a zap to Lucius's taut buttocks.

'Ow! 'Cissa, must you?' he grumbled, still trying to put his hair back in order.

Jean and Andrew hid their grins. Narcissa was a jewel.

It seemed that it was an auspicious time for the parents to leave. After kisses and hugs from Narcissa and a baleful look of farewell from Lucius, they disapparated.

Andrew blinked. 'I don't think I'm ever going to get used to that,' he murmured to Jean.

Hermione's parents were left to withdraw in the usual Muggle manner (which was to walk to the outskirts of town, where they had parked their Toyota Prius).

Once the door was finally closed, Draco turned to face his girlfriend with the objective of entering into a debate about the merits of their undoing his old man's petty damage to their bathroom (none, as far as he was concerned) but she just looked so damn beautiful...

He smiled instead and drew her body towards his. 'Our place,' he murmured against her cheek.

Hermione smiled and arched her back, breasts jutting into his chest. 'That's right. Did you know there's a Muggle tradition when a couple move into their own place together?'

He clamped both hands on her derriere. 'And what tradition would that be?'

'Well,' she said as she nuzzled his neck, 'they usually 'christen' every room. If you get my meaning.'

Draco did not. 'Um...'

She giggled against his skin. 'They have sex in every room.'

Choirs of heavenly angels sang 'Halleluiah!' around his head. And his other head.

'I insist that we honour this important Muggle tradition,' he said gravely. 'Starting with the entryway.'

Hermione looked up at him from beneath her lashes and smiled coyly. 'As you wish.'

* * *

Leaning against the entry door, Draco indolently watched Hermione decide what they were going to do. A finger on her bottom lip, she looked him slowly up and down, assessing and undressing him with her sloe eyes. They sparked when she made her decision.

She raised up on her tip-toes, helped by his hands on her bum, and settled her lips on his, entering his mouth with her tongue when he parted them. Her hands fluttered to his belt and unbuckled it, brushing her fingers along his groin before she found the buttons to his jeans. One by one, they slid from their holes.

She pulled his semi-erect-but-shortly-on-the-way-to-becoming-pretty-damn-hard cock from his underwear, running her hand over and around it.

As if like magic, Draco's cock engorged and lengthened to its usual Malfoy standard.

Releasing the kiss, Hermione got to her knees before him, wrapped her hand around his shaft and slowly began to stroke the length of him.

Draco made sure he had a sure stance on the floor. The last thing he wanted was for his knees to give out at the worst possible time and land on his arse. That would take some living down.

He could feel her breath on the head of his cock. Her lips were close, so close...

Her hand kept moving up and down, up and down.

'Hermione,' he groaned, eyes closed.

She smirked, then applied her tongue to the head – one teensy swipe.

'Argh! Are you trying to make me explode, woman?'

Hermione giggled again. He loved to hear it. Usually. Not when his cock was aching hard and needed a thorough seeing-to. But now she applied to tongue to the underside of his shaft, most satisfactorily, too.

Then it travelled all the way to the top and made the head of his cock very warm and wet indeed.

Oh, bloody hell, yes.

Then –

Her mouth enveloped the head and sucked, looking up at him. Her lips were wet and full.

Merlin's gorgeous, beautiful tits, there was nothing on earth that made him feel this way. He gathered her wayward curls into a loose ponytail, exposing her face to his view.

She held his shaft in a first grip with a saliva-wet hand and manipulated his flesh with confidence. She popped the crown of his cock free from her mouth – he stifled a moan of disappointment – and sunk down onto his shaft, inch by lovely, agonising inch.

With one hand occupied in stroking the remainder of his shaft in time to the movements of her mouth, she unbuttoned her blouse and bared her breasts, cruelly imprisoned by a luscious royal-blue bra. Her nipples stood at tantalising attention through the sheer lace cups.

A sound left Draco's throat. Words were not his friend right now.

She sped up her movements, more of his cock sinking into her mouth and nudging her throat. Lubricating saliva from her mouth helped his organ's journey.

With a 'pop,' she surged back again, right off him, breathing hard. Out of reach, he let go of her hair and it settled riotously around her shoulders and flushed face.

Draco couldn't move a muscle. What does she have planned?

She pulled her breasts from their lacy cage, clutching them, rolling the nipples between her fingers. 'Come on my breasts,' she said with wet, shiny lips.

I'll come on the moon if you want, my love, Draco thought. Just get back on my cock!

She leaned towards him again and took a deep breath. Opening her mouth, she plunged her mouth down his rock-hard length and lodged the sensitive head in her throat. She fucked him again and again with her mouth, sending the head against the hard cartilage of her throat. Saliva spilled and dripped, and base, primal sounds emerged from her mouth.

Draco felt the orgasm build and take over his existence. Well, just his cock, but his cock is pretty important to him. Clutching her hair in his hands, he thrust a few times – caught between not wanting to hurt her but wanting to bring everything to a crescendo.

'Now, love,' he gritted, and she pulled her away. Resting on her heels, she cupped her breasts lifted them towards him, biting her lip, her eyes lit with desire.

He stroked his cock a few times – then he exhaled heavily, groaning in bliss as his seed shot from his cock and drizzled in sticky ribbons over Hermione's chest and breasts.

Breathing hard, he leaned against the door, deflating dick in his hand. Hermione stayed where she was. They both watched a rivulet of Draco's come pool over a nipple...

and fall to the floor with a 'plop.'

Hermione grabbed her shrunk wand from her pocket and _scourgified_ them. And the floor. Then she hopped to her feet.

'One area down,' she grinned. 'See you in the kitchen!'

And off she went.

Draco's body protested mightily. It needed at least twenty minutes before it was up to performance standard again.

But of course, it was her turn, wasn't it?

Whistling softly, Draco packed Draco Junior away and followed her.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N – I would like to dedicate this chapter to my guest reviewers. Your reviews are so lovely, I get so many warm fuzzies by reading them, and I'm only sorry that I can't reply individually to thank you. Therefore, please consider this message my heartfelt thanks to you all.**

 **Sorry again for being tardy with updating. Earning a living gets in the way of my daydreaming, I'm afraid. But don't worry, I'll definitely update – if I don't, coy_g81, La BelladoneX and LightofEvolution will harangue me on all your behalves until I do. Or encourage me. One or the other! Thanks, ladies xxx**

* * *

 **Braedwitton University (five weeks before chapter 27 and one week after chapter 28)**

On day one of term, two bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and suitably-gowned students joined the ranks of the many other students streaming into the massive grounds of Braedwitton University. Despite the enormous numbers of students, Draco and Hermione still managed to bump into a couple of old friends from Hogwarts.

Their first meeting was a literal collision. A bright, shiny-new First Year student, wearing the caduceus insignia of the Healing School on his gown, decided there was no time like the present to fumble and drop all his textbooks in the middle of the castle's quadrangle – while everyone was using the quadrangle as a shortcut to get from here and there to everywhere. Most managed to avoid him, but Draco – who only had eyes for Hermione – failed to see the gown-covered rock in his path and sailed over him.

'Oh, I say! I'm so terribly sorry!' the rock squeaked, standing up and pushing his glasses back onto his nose with his free hand. Then the speaker turned pale. 'Oh, gods. It's Malfoy. Please don't kill me!'

Draco, who had only just managed to stay on his feet, buoyed as he was by the Malfoy requirement of never making a dick of oneself in public (or private, for that matter), glared at the speaker while rearranging his fabulous hair back into place. Recognition made him roll his eyes. 'Oh gods,' he sighed, 'it's Robards.' But he still held a hand out for Jason to shake.

Draco meant what he said about owing Jason a life debt.

Didn't mean he had to turn a blind eye to Robards' Longbottom-esque level of clumsiness.

Hermione, meanwhile, did the socially acceptable thing by hugging the dishevelled Jason and kissing him on the cheek. 'Jason! So good to see you! Did you have a good holiday? We can go to pre-Healing School together!'

Poor Jason was torn between greeting Hermione and expecting Draco to eviscerate him for letting his cheek get in the way of Hermione's lips. 'Er-um, yeah. It was nice, and, um, that'd be grand,' he stammered.

Therefore, the loved-up duo became a slightly ill-at-ease trio.

Not too long after, the group spied Theo gossiping amongst a group of ex-Ravenclaws in the castle's enormously imposing Dining Hall. He waved them over, and Draco, Hermione and Jason spent few minutes catching up with the likes of Padma Patil, Luna Lovegood and Cho Chang, the latter, to Hermione's interest, was in her second year of Healing School.

But Padma and Luna were more interested in hearing from Hermione about Theo and Lavender's wedding, peppering her with all the important questions that Theo couldn't or wouldn't answer.

'Is it true you're going to be Lavender's bridesmaid?'

'What's the wedding theme going to be?'

'What colour will the bridesmaids' robes be?'

'When's the hen's night going to be?'

'Where's the hen's night going to be?'

'Will there be stripper wizards at the hen's night?' (This was from Luna).

Overwhelmed, Hermione backed away, promising to find all the answers somewhere and at some point (such as on the date and at the venue of the wedding itself) and urged Cho to show her and Jason to the University's Healing School.

Draco saw her disappear in a vast and colourful tide of witches and wizards before he could kiss her goodbye and wish her luck on her first day. Not that she'd need it. If anyone needed luck, it was Robards. And Draco sure as hell wouldn't be kissing him.

Shrugging, he turned back to Theo. 'This wedding lark's a bit full on, isn't it?'

Theo vehemently agreed. 'Lavender's doing a fantastic job with organising it,' he said with no small measure of relief. 'Who knew there was so much to organise?'

Draco had no idea. But a funny stirring in his heart made him think he should probably pay attention.

Eventually, they extricated themselves out of the knot of ex-Hogwartians and made their way to their respective lectures.

'So,' said Draco, rubbing his hands together, 'what's planned for the stag night, then?'

Theo stared at him. 'You're the best man, mate. 'It's your job to organise it.'

'Me?' Draco was taken aback. He didn't know that being best man came with _responsibilities._ 'Right! I knew that, of course. I'll get on it with all haste.' He thought. 'You know who would be really useful for helping organise a stag do? Blaise.'

Theo laughed. 'You're not wrong.' He looked idly around the crushed campus. 'You haven't seen him, have you? Or Giorgia - is that her name? She left Blaise's house shortly after Lavender and I arrived.'

With some surprise, Draco realised he hadn't heard from Blaise since... um...

He shrugged with effortless Malfoy nonchalance. 'He'll be around somewhere.'

* * *

And Blaise was.

First, he dashed to the Dining Hall, where early-morners were breakfasting. Then he paced agitatedly outside the Admissions Hall until it opened, elbowed past all the other lost and bewildered First Years and threw every schmoozy chat-up line he knew at the elderly female goblin was who manning, or goblin-ing, the desk.

After he was ousted from the Admissions Hall with a rather large flea in his ear, Blaise headed to the Witches' Hall of Residence and watched each and every person depart the building like a hawk, until a Security Wizard ambled along and told him to hop it or he'll get done for loitering.

Then he headed to the onsite bookshop (a building Hermione had already gleefully checked out) and searched every nook and cranny. He was a third of the way of checking every table and aisle in the university's gigantic library when he realised it was time for his first class of the day: Introduction to Wizard Tort Law.*

He'd made serious inroads into turning the university upside to find Giorgia, without success.

Blaise's logic convinced him that she must be in the Tort Law lecture hall by now. She was a first-year law student, after all. Where else could she possibly be?

As he half-muttered apologies to the owners of the feet he trod on in his haste to get to the classroom, he wondered what he would do first when he saw her: demand to know why in Hade's name did she disappear off the face of the earth and not send him a single letter or make a single Floo-call?

Or would he crush her to his body in a bone-rattling hug and kiss her until they both ran out of breath?

He honestly couldn't decide.

But as it turned out, he did neither.

Because when he rushed into the lecture hall, mere nanoseconds before the Torts Professor appeared at her lectern, he knew.

She wasn't here, either.

Numb, he collapsed into a seat near the back of the room and stared at his shaking hands.

* * *

Draco hummed a little tune as he entered his flat later that afternoon. He could spare some time to continue de-mossing the bathroom for a bit (he and Hermione discovered they had to remove each spell layer by time-consuming layer, and it was looking like those bloody cherubs were last on the long list of things to annihilate) before changing into his Quidditch practice gear and trying out for one of the University's teams.

He was rather pleased with his day, busy at it was. Turned out Professor Snape was an excellent teacher, for all that he was a foul-tempered fiend with no social life. Thus, without Hermione eclipsing him at every academic turn, it looked like the First Years' Potions Head of the Class award would be won by...himself.

He permitted himself a most un-Malfoy-like grin.

He was still beaming like a beautiful idiot when the flat door opened and Hermione dragged herself in. She vaguely returned Draco's kiss and didn't stop when she made to put her bag on the kitchen bench but she missed and it clattered to the floor instead.

'Something wrong, love?' Draco queried, halfway through pouring some pumpkin juice.

Hermione shook her head. Then she nodded, her lips pressed tight together.

Unsure, Draco approached her with caution. 'How was your day, then?'

Hermione dredged up a smile and pasted it on her face. 'It was... good... interesting... challenging...yeah...' she trailed off.

Draco was thoroughly alarmed. 'Did something happen?' he asked in a mild panic.

She made a doleful little sound. 'There's a guy in my class,' she warbled unsteadily.

Draco instantly metamorphosed into a man-slaying dragon (only metaphorically). 'Who is he?' he snarled. 'What's he done to you? Where did he touch you?'

A tear trailed down Hermione's cheek.

Draco grasped her by her arms and looked straight into her large, teary eyes. 'Just give me his name, and he'll be nothing but vapour by tea-time,' he vowed.

'Y-you don't understand,' she whispered.

'He's made you cry on your first day of university, that part I understand!'

'He didn't touch me or do anything inappropriate!' she suddenly burst out. 'His name is Erik Lajos, he's from Durmstrang. And he'- she hiccupped. 'And he' – *hiccup!*

The suspense was killing Draco. 'And he what?' he demanded.

'H-he...h-he's...SMARTER THAN ME!' she wailed - and fell into Draco's surprised arms.

* * *

 **Four weeks later (a week before Blaise moves in with Draco and Hermione, then we're all caught up)**

'Oh!' There was something I was going to ask you!' Hermione exclaimed, looking up at Draco.

Draco stared both at her, then at his magnificent erection, which until a second ago was being enthusiastically sucked by his deliciously-naked girlfriend. It was rather-well lubricated, and Draco Junior was starting to feel a chill. 'Can't this wait until after, love?' he asked, undulating his hips in the hopes that something thick and glorious might catch Hermione's eye.

However, she sat up on the bed and pouted. 'I'm serious, Draco,' she insisted. 'How long has it been since you last saw Blaise?'

Is that all? Draco's inner voice (quite possibly Draco Junior) grizzled. And why in Circe's name was she thinking of Blaise when she was sucking my dick?

He sighed, running both hands through his hair. 'Theo asked me that on our first day at university.'

'Have you seen him since then?'

'Sure. I saw him at...' Um... not at Quidditch try-outs. Or the Dining Hall. Or the on-campus pub. Or at any of the off-campus ones, either.

Other parts of him started to feel cold, too. 'Have you tried his flat?'

'Yeah. His landlord said he hasn't seen Blaise since the first week of university.' Hermione bit her lip, and Draco knew she was seriously worried.

He climbed onto the bed and wrapped his long arms around her body. 'We'll find him,' he promised, and kissed her forehead.

She smiled. 'Thank you, love.'

Then, much to his dismay, she hopped off the bed and started getting dressed.

'But- but- what about...?' Draco indicated Draco Junior, now on the deflate.

Hermione fastened her bra and scoffed, tugging on her jeans. 'Seriously, Draco, do you honestly think we're going to have sex every day just because we live together?' She sashayed into the bathroom without a top on, giving the slightly cleaner cherubs much to limerick about.

He stared after her, mouth agape. 'Yes!' he shouted.

That was the point of living together, wasn't it?

Bloody hell.

* * *

* A tort is a civil wrong (as opposed to a crime) where someone has been wronged or put financially out-of-pocket. There's plenty of TV programmes where judges will hear complaints between two parties on topics like 'my hairdresser dyed my hair a hideous orange colour when I specifically said I wanted cerise.' That's tort. It's taught in Muggle first-year law schools, so I figured witches and wizards would have similar grievances to us that only a courtroom can apparently solve.

* * *

 **A/N: Where's Blaise?**


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Chapter 30! I really should get around to finishing this story one of these days.**

 **This one's a shorty, but I feel so bad at not updating as often as I can. I was going to keep on with this chapter but I came to a natural ending and thought I should get something up smart-ish. I should be able to add to it quickly, she hopes and prays and promises, hoping she won't be struck by lightning.**

 **I was rather distracted by penning a story for Strictly Dramione's upcoming Summer Loving writing fest, but that's NO excuse.**

 **This chapter follows directly from chapter 29. At the end of this chapter we're back in present time again. No more time-travelling. Yay!**

* * *

After Draco sadly put his pants back on (and his other clothes), he and Hermione went looking for Blaise. Draco insisted on trying the university pub first and having a beer ('it's only polite, love,') with a couple of his classmates before insisting on trying the other four pubs in Cadwur. And having a polite beer in each one.

Therefore, by the time an out-of-patience Hermione took over the search and insisted that they go to Blaise's flat, Draco was a little merry, shall we say.

They headed to a row of posh-looking flats on top of a hill that overlooked the university gardens. Hermione checked with the landlord, who lived in one of the flats, who confirmed that he hadn't seen hide nor hair of Blaise and, quite frankly, wasn't too bothered as long the rent kept coming through.

After Hermione practiced the Malfoy Look on him, the landlord squeaked 'What? He ain't dead. The neighbours would have smelled 'im and complained.'

'You revolting man!' Hermione snarled, and stomped up the flights of stairs to Blaise's flat.

The landlord glanced at Draco, who was weaving slightly on his feet. 'That's a right handful you've got there,' he remarked, nodding to the stairs.

'Gods, yes,' Draco confirmed enthusiastically, looking at his hands and thinking about how well Hermione's breasts fit into them.

'Draco!' came a holler from a couple of flights up. 'Hurry the hell up!'

'Hear that?' Draco said to the landlord. 'That's the voice of angels, it is.'

Then he sashayed out to the landing and waltzed up the stairs, leaving the landlord staring after him.

* * *

Hermione was waiting for him outside the door to Blaise's flat. 'What took you so long?' she demanded. Then, as she observed Draco's less-than-linear perambulations, she followed with 'How drunk are you?'

Draco looked most offended. 'I am nothing of the short!' he slurred.

Sighing, Hermione turned to the door and knocked on it. 'Blaise? Are you in there? It's Hermione. Please open the door.'

When that yielded no response, Draco said 'Shtep aside, lady and let the man sort it out!'

With a deluxe eyeroll, Hermione did as bade while Draco leaned against the door.

He gave it a good pounding, then put his lips to the keyhole. 'Oi! Come on, brother, open the door! I need to take a piss!'

'Oh, Jesus,' Hermione muttered into her hands.

Draco, however, had one more trick up his sleeve. 'Look mate, if you've been holed up here all these weeks, you must be desperate for a drink! So, open the door and let's go to the pub! Just you, me, and the missus.'

'The missus' shoved him aside and took over. 'Blaise?' she called, panicked worry entering her voice. 'Not long ago you saved my life. That means I won't walk away from you. If you need my help for _any_ reason, I'll give it to you. I owe you that much.' She glanced at Draco, who'd sobered up considerably at the reminder of Hermione's near-hypothermic experience. 'Draco and I are so worried about you,' she continued. 'Whatever it is that's upsetting you, we'll help you sort it. But please, Blaise, _please_ open the door.'

Nothing.

Defeated, Hermione leaned her head against the door and tried not to let her tears fall.

But then she heard a key grate in the lock.

Stepping back, she clutched Draco's hand and watched the door creak open.

* * *

Yowser.

The creature that stood next to the open door was barely recognisable as human, let alone as Blaise Zabini.

His hair was pretty short to begin with, so he couldn't do much damage there. But his stubble had developed into a galloping beard, and his clothes looked like they could stand up and run out of the flat by themselves, if given half a chance. He was gaunt, with his eyes sunk into his head. They were also red-rimmed; and dead of expression.

Hermione let out a sob. 'Oh, Blaise...'

She hugged him, not caring that he didn't respond. Draco, however, saw that Blaise's eyelids slowly shuttered; then closed, reacting to the comfort that another warm body provides.

His arms robotically gathered Hermione close; and slow tears tracked down his cheeks.

Overwhelmed, Draco enclosed them both in his arms.

* * *

But not for long; Blaise was a wee bit whiffy.

* * *

Hermione sat Blaise down on a sofa and instructed Draco to make some tea. Then, realising what a stupid arrangement that was, recalled Draco and took his place. Blanching at the state the kitchen was in, she rolled up her sleeves, took out her wand, and began to sanitise an area suitable for tea-making.

Draco sat next to Blaise on the sofa, watching Blaise's shaking hands. 'What have you been drinking the last few weeks?' he asked.

Blaise thought. 'Firewhisky,' he croaked.

'When was the last time you had something to eat?'

Blaise thought some more. 'Friday.'

Draco frowned. 'Today's Wednesday.'

Blaise's eyes were blank. 'Really.'

There followed an uncomfortable silence, until Draco genteelly enquired 'Where's your house-elf?'

'Sent him back to Mum's. He was getting on my nerves.'

Ah. That would explain the complete and utter bombsite that his flat resembled. Aside from the general dust and debris caused by weeks of neglect, the floor of the living room was practically awash with empty Firewhisky bottles. The place reeked like the bottom of an ashtray filled with the dregs of the cheapest plonk. Draco got up to open some windows.

He was working up to asking when was the last time Blaise had a shower when Hermione came back from the kitchen, clutching three milk-less mugs of tea. Both young men turned up their noses at the offering, but Hermione wasn't in the mood for their shit. Thrusting the steaming hot mugs under their upturned noses, she righted a nearby upended ottoman with her foot and sat down on it.

Both men shifted uncomfortably under her compassionate gaze.

'Sorry there's no milk in the tea,' she said. 'I found some milk in the kitchen, but it was busy developing its own life forms.'

Draco stole a look at Blaise's filthy jeans and moth-eaten sweater. It looked like they weren't too far off from doing the same.

Blaise didn't notice because he was busy curling his cold hands around the hot mug. He'd felt so cold for ages.

'Blaise,' Hermione asked gently, 'what happened?'

He kept his eyes on the tea. Eventually, he mumbled 'She was supposed to live here with me.'

Oh. The knut dropped for the others.

'But she disappeared,' he continued bleakly. 'Around the time you left Italy. I looked everywhere for her, but not even her own family knew where she was. I was worried sick. I came to the university hoping, praying that she'd be here. But she's not here, either. I just can't fucking find her.' He lowered his head.

'I'm so sorry,' Hermione whispered.

Draco patted his back and pretended to drink his tea.

'I don't know what I've done!' Blaise burst out. He leapt up from the couch, leaving his mug to crash to the floor. He strode to the apartment windows angrily. 'I keep wracking my brains, you know? Trying to recall what it was that I did that made her run away without a fucking word! I need to know! It's driving me insane!'

Suddenly exhausted, he leaned against the window, rubbing his face. 'I can't go on like this,' he said quietly. 'I have to find her. See for myself that she's okay. Hear from her own lips what I did to send the woman I love away from me.'

Hermione stood up. 'We'll help you find her,' she said.

Eh? thought Draco.

Hermione noticed Draco's face, and carefully avoided eye contact. 'But on one condition.'

Blaise looked up.

'Until you find her, and you feel better, you'll be living with us.'

* * *

Of the two astounded men in the flat, Blaise was, surprisingly, slightly more agreeable. Leaving him to pack a suitcase and summon back his house-elf, Draco genteelly stirred Hermione to a quiet corner of the flat and cast a silencing spell.

'What the hell did you just do?' he hissed angrily.

Hermione met him full-on. 'He needs care and supervision,' she snapped. 'Surely you call see that he's wasting away? He's not eating, and he's pickling his liver in Firewhisky.'

'I'm not blind, love, I can see that, too. But I have a tiny, wee little issue with the fact that you made a major decision involving both of us without even consulting me. And I was right here!'

Hermione matched his glare; but then she conceded. 'I was afraid you'd say no,' she whispered with her eyes on her shoes.

Silence.

Then a long, cultured finger settled beneath her chin and lifted it up. Bravely meeting his eyes, Hermione could see that Draco wasn't pissed at her anymore.

'We're in this relationship together, love,' he said. 'We need to talk about big decisions before they're made, right? It's only fair.'

Hermione nodded, shamefaced. 'Sorry,' she replied.

'And one more thing.' Draco put his lips close to her ear. 'Never, ever, be afraid of anything I might say. Or do. I may say stupid things or make stupid decisions sometimes, but I love you, and will do everything I can to make you happy.'

Hermione's treacherous bottom lip wobbled, and she flung her arms tight around him. He drew her close to his body and rested his head on the top of hers. She really was the perfect height for it.

They were interrupted by a 'bang' and the sudden appearance of a house-elf, who took one look at the dishevelled living room, and promptly burst into tears of joy at the sight of work that was cut out for him.

'If he's that happy about the living room,' Hermione remarked in an undertone to Draco, 'he'll be positively orgasmic at the state of the kitchen.'

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading, favouriting, following and reviewing xx**


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Um, I know I said this chapter we'd be back in present time, but there's a few things to tidy up first before we're out of the past and into the present. I'm too detailed for my own good, I'm afraid.**

 **However, this chapter sees the return of a couple of characters that featured earlier in the story! Yay?**

 **The ceremony mentioned in this chapter is being held at a different time of year from when it's ordinarily held. Behold the power of the fanfiction author!**

 **Finally, I just realised I wrote chapter 30 without even mentioning Giorgia's name. Good grief. Thank God you all knew who I was writing about.**

* * *

 **This chapter follows on directly from chapter 30**

And thus, Blaise moved into the Malfoy-Granger residence. Or was it the Granger-Malfoy residence? That particular topic had yet to be discussed.

After they left Blaise's flat, Hermione detoured to the Healer's Library and arrived home, laden with books, just as Draco had finished showing Blaise around their happy home.

'Hey,' she greeted Draco as she stepped through the Floo. 'Everything all right?'

'Sure.' Draco kissed her and relieved her of her books. 'He's just unpacking his gear.'

'Did you warn him about the' –

'AAARRRGGGHHH!' Blaise's scream of horror came from the bathroom.

Draco shrugged. 'No need.'

Hermione sighed. 'We have to step up the cleaning of that room. Those hideous cherubs exceed their creepiness at an exponential rate.'

'Then let's Floo Mother' –

'No,' she replied firmly. 'If we give in, your father will never let us live it down.' Then she brightened. 'Maybe with Blaise here, we'll get it done faster!'

'I'll let him know what he's signed himself up for,' Draco mumbled, and headed off in search of his friend.

* * *

In the spare bedroom, Blaise listened to Draco's explanation as to why the bathroom looked like it had been constantly projectile-vomiting in Technicolor since the 1970s with a sceptical face. 'Why didn't you take up your Mum's offer to fix it?' he asked.

'Well, Hermione said – um, what's that face for?'

Blaise's sceptic face had morphed into a knowing smirk. 'Mate,' he drawled. 'Who wears the pants in your relationship?'

Glaring, Draco pointed to his expensive Alexander McQueen distressed jeans (bought during their stay in London), and thus was not amused when Blaise snorted.

'What?'

'You, my friend, are thoroughly pussy-whipped.'

Draco lunged at Blaise. 'You take that back!'

Laughing, Blaise parried Draco's half-baked attack, and got a quick jab in Draco's solar plexus.

At her desk in the living room, Hermione looked up from reading Professor Miserus's _Wizarding Anatomy for Healers_ and smiled at the sounds of scuffling and hoots of laughter coming from down the hall.

A little later and a little puffed, Blaise asked 'What are you going to do about the bathroom?'

'I'll get the counter-spells from Mother,' Draco said firmly. Then he lowered his voice. 'When Hermione's in class.'

Blaise smirked and rolled his eyes.

Heading to the door, Draco added 'Just ignore the cherubs until then. They're pretty vicious with their insults.'

'Noted,' Blaise replied.

* * *

Now that Blaise was no longer wallowing in a filthy flat, he realised that the stale, sour smell that seemed to be following him around was actually coming from him. Finding a fresh change of clothes and a towel, he took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door.

'Look here, boys, fresh meat!' cackled one of the cherubs as Blaise walked in.

'Excellent! I was getting tired of insulting that pale, scrawny bloke,' said another cherub.

'I could never get tired of staring at the wench, though!' the third cherub cackled, which inspired all three to compose yet another dirty limerick about Hermione's T&A.*

Stoic, Blaise turned the shower on and stripped off his manky clothes.

When he pulled his underwear off, the cherubs gasped. Then they fell disturbingly silent.

Blaise steeled himself, expecting the worst.

'My dear sir,' said awed Cherub Number One, 'you sport the most magnificent genitalia we've ever seen!'

'You won't believe how many todgers we've have to stare at over the years,' sighed Cherub Number Two.

'Sir, we salute you!' Cherub Number One intoned solemnly, and Cherub Number Three burst into operatic song, belting out an ode that not only praised Blaise's marvellous flesh, but also paid homage to his (presumably) equally well-endowed ancestors.

In the shower, shampooing his hair, Blaise wondered why all the weirdest things that happened to him were connected with Draco in some way.

* * *

Later that evening, the three friends sat in the living room, thinking. And in Blaise's case, drinking. Hermione pursed her lips at the Firewhisky bottle, but let it go.

'So, Blaise, you know Gia's not in Law School,' she pondered, 'but do you know whether she's at the university at all?'

'I couldn't get jack shit out of the Admissions Goblin,' he grumbled.

'Well, one of us will have to sneak into the Admissions Hall and look,' she replied.

Draco couldn't believe his ears. 'Is Miss Head Girl of Hogwarts, brainiac extraordinaire, founder of SPEW' –

'S.P.E.W! For God's sake!'

' – sure, love - proposing to commit a crime?'

Hermione wriggled a little uncomfortably, making Draco briefly and gloriously happy because she was sitting between the vee of his legs. 'It's not 'breaking and entering,' it's just 'sneaking in'. Anyway, since I'm so brainy, I should be able to come up with a fool-proof way of getting the information without getting caught, right?'

Draco and Blaise looked doubtful.

'And you'll be helping me,' she finished.

The boys looked at each other, then at her. 'Um, who are you talking to?' Blaise asked.

'I haven't decided yet.'

* * *

 **A little while later**

'What if she's gone to another university?' Hermione thought out loud.

'It's possible,' Blaise replied. 'But how do we find that out?'

They thought for a bit. Blaise drank for a bit.

'Draco, is your father still on the school board at Hogwarts?' Hermione asked.

He pulled a face. 'I guess. Why?'

'Just wondered if he had contacts with other universities.'

'No idea,' he replied. 'But Mother sits on a lot of boards and does charity work that puts her in touch with all sorts of people. I could ask her if she knows anyone from the other wizarding universities. She's far more likely to co-operate with us, too.'

'Great idea!' Hermione beamed. And wriggled.

Draco let her presume his smug look just related to The Plan to Find Gia.

'Well, that just leaves one rather large area to search,' Hermione said thoughtfully.

'What's that?'

'Italy.'

Blaise shook his head. 'I went over Lucca and Pisa with a fine-tooth comb. Not even her parents could tell me where she'd gone.'

'Couldn't tell you, or wouldn't tell you?' Draco asked carefully.

Blaise thought, then took a swig from the bottle before replying. 'I'm not sure, now.'

'Maybe we should concentrate on the university angle and see if we have any success there first,' Hermione suggested. 'If we draw a blank, we'll think about what to do about Italy.'

Blaise shrugged. 'Sure,' he mumbled. His eyes were dull again.

The slightly tense atmosphere was interrupted by _I'm Too Sexy_ (by Right Said Fred) blaring from Draco's phone in the kitchen, where Hermione had rigged up a charging device powered by a potato and some amplified magic.

Hermione groaned and reached for Blaise's Firewhisky bottle as Draco swaggered off to answer it.

'Why the hell does Draco have that ridiculous song as a ringtone?' Blaise asked, a little concerned at the amount of booze Hermione was knocking back.

She swallowed, sighed and handed the bottle back. 'I put it on his phone as a joke, but he loves it so much, he refuses to remove it.'

Blaise smirked. 'Serves you right, then.'

In the kitchen, Draco checked the phone's display and picked it up. 'Troy? That you?'

'Draco, hi! Thank God I got hold of you!' Draco's Doppelgänger Troy Fendalton sounded extraordinarily relieved just to have his phone call answered. 'Listen mate, could you do me a really big favour?'

* * *

'He wants WHAT?' Hermione squawked, before silencing their bedroom for the sake of Blaise's ears.

Draco plonked himself down on the bed. 'He wants me to take his place at an awards ceremony,' he replied, reading the text Troy had sent him with the details.

'Dear Godric, please tell me it isn't the Oscars,' Hermione prayed.

'It's the B.A.F.T.A awards,' Draco said, sounding out each letter á la S.P.E.W.

'The BAFTAs,' she sighed, plonking down next to him.

'Hey! How come SPEW is S.P.E.W. but the B.A.F. is BAFTAs?'

'Never mind that,' Hermione said, looking at Draco's phone screen. 'Why does he want you to go? Why can't he go? And if he can't go, why can't he just RSVP in the negative like normal people, who don't have other people looking exactly like them running around?'

'Something about him making a low-budget film in a dodgy location and contracting a contagious disease of some sort and therefore is in isolation for the next period of his life. His manager wanted Troy to attend the prize-giving thingy for much-needed post-ex-girlfriend publicity. And also because his manager already promised a large number of important people that he'd be going before he went and got diseased.'

'Well, his manager can sort it out, then.'

'He did. Phoning me was his suggestion.'

Hermione rolled onto her back and looked at Draco with much love and not a little exasperation. 'Babe, you still know very little about the Muggle world. You know next to nothing about the glitzy, big bucks make-believe world of Muggle entertainment. You'll be caught out within thirty seconds of stepping on the red carpet.'

'Why is the carpet red?'

'See?'

Draco laid down next her, pulling her body close to his. 'But you'll be with me,' he said, nuzzling Hermione's ear. 'You'll stop me from making an ass of myself and putting the entire Wizarding World at risk of discovery.'

'Hmm…' She could never resist an ear nuzzle. 'When is it?'

Draco paused, mid-nuzzle, to check his phone. 'October twenty-fifth.'

Hermione frowned. 'That sounds familiar…' She _accio'd_ her diary and checked it as Draco's lips moved down her neck.

She shut the diary with a clack, interrupting him. 'Sorry, love. I've got an exam the following morning.'

'Bollocks.'

They both stared up at the ceiling.

'Um… do you think…' Draco trailed off, mumbling.

'Sorry, didn't hear the last bit.'

He sighed. 'Would it look really creepy if I asked Daisy to come with me?'

Hermione was silent for a while. But when Draco nervously turned his head to look at her, she was smiling.

'I think that's a brilliant idea.'

* * *

So did Troy's manager Will, when Draco got in touch with him. 'That's a brilliant angle!' Will gushed, far away from Troy and his contagious body parts. 'Troy Takes Number One Fan to Prestigious Awards Show!' he announced, talking in newspaper headlines as he tended to do.

While Draco had him on the phone, he said 'I've never paid much attention to the, um, entertainment world. I'm sure Daisy will be helpful, if her Mum says she can go, but I'm rather at sea, knowledge-wise, about what to do, what to say and what is acceptable to have done to me. Well, Troy.'

'Not to worry,' Will soothed. 'I'll send out some information about Troy's last film which is featuring in the show. We've kept his illness all hush-hush, by the way. If any rumour about an actor getting sick gets out, everyone assumes it's some hideous sexually-transmitted disease that makes either your nose or your knob fall off. What's your courier address?'

Draco mouthed 'Courier address?' to Hermione, who whispered back 'My parent's address. He'll know it.'

'Could you send the stuff to the Granger's residence in London? We're travelling around at the moment.' Draco was pleased to note he could still lie with éclat. Living with an ex-Gryffindor was not making him soft in _that_ department.

'Rightio,' Will said, and rang off.

Draco sent his phone winging its way to the tallboy and laid back down next to Hermione. 'Well, it's all settled,' he said. 'Providing Daisy wants to go, of course.'

'She'll definitely want to. Her street cred will rocket up the charts. She'll be the most popular girl at that bitchy school of hers for decades to come.'

'Is that good?'

Hermione smiled. 'It's great, love.' She tangled one of her legs with Draco's and kissed him.

Draco's return kiss was a little pre-occupied. 'Darling,' he mused, 'is there really a Muggle disease that can make your penis fall off?'

Hermione's mouth fell open. She had to hand it to Draco. He could really come up with the strangest questions at the strangest times.

* * *

 **Next morning**

If Blaise thought he could lie about Draco and Hermione's flat all day like Lord Muck, he was sorely mistaken. At seven in the morning, Maple the house-elf (now proudly employed at Draco and Hermione's flat) popped into his room and gently shook him awake.

'Miss Hermione say you get up now,' Maple said solemnly to the half-hungover young man.

'Wha' th' 'ell do I 'ave ter gerrup fer?' Blaise mumbled, plonking his pillow over his head.

Maple disappeared for a couple of seconds, then returned. 'Miss Hermione say you are to do the learning at the big school,' she replied.

'Fuck off.'

Maple fucked off.

At half-past seven, however, he was woken from sleep by a tremendous banging on his bedroom door. This was followed by Hermione's amplified voice, blaring 'Blaise Zabini! Get your arse out of bed right now, or I'll come in and drag it out!'

After having lived with Hermione in the Head Dorms for most of the previous school year, Blaise knew two things about her: she meant what she said, and she did what she said. Peeking beneath the bedsheets at his nude body, he grimaced at the tree trunk of morning wood that had taken root between his legs and decided he didn't particularly want Hermione to add it to her collection of medical anomalies to inspect, so he grouched back 'Yeah, all right, gimme a minute, woman!' and painfully crawled out of bed.

Opening the door a couple of minutes later, decently clad in track pants and a t-shirt (and having given the morning wood a stern talking-to), he met Hermione leaning next to the door jamb, grinning and holding out a cup of coffee.

He grasped the cup with both hands and took a grateful gulp. 'How the hell does Draco put up with you in the mornings?' he mumbled.

Her smile grew Slytherin-like. 'He's an early riser,' she winked, and skipped down the hall to the kitchen.

* * *

 **A/N: Please tell me you got the joke in the last line! Writing it, I was faced with two options: wildly over-stating it, or wildly under-stating it. As you see, I went with option B.**

 ***T &A = tits and ass **

**Q: Are we back in the present yet, for the love of Merlin?**

 **A: The next chapter will have us in the present again. But possibly not in the beginning. Yay?**


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: Hello! I had no idea the cherubs would prove to be so popular! Unfortunately, I can't write poetry that scans or rhymes, which is why you're not reading any of their filthy-minded filth. When I studied creative writing, we had to write limericks. Turns out, the only limericks I can write are about racehorses, for some reason. And try as I might, I can't see how to work a racehorse limerick into the cherubs' repertoire. References to centaur willies is as far as I go.**

 **Anyway, the cherubs make a brief appearance in this chapter, the filthy feckers.**

 **After receiving many requests to write a scene in which Draco finds out about Blaise's dream (see ch 27), I have obliged. It's not a big scene; there's lots to do yet!**

 ***Lemon alert!* I know, it's been a while, I'm so sorry. Would you believe I lost the ability to write lemon scenes for a few weeks? It was horrible! Hope this effort is up to my usual standards.**

 **Right, that's enough blathering – on with the show!**

* * *

 **Morning – specifically, the morning after Blaise had** _ **that**_ **dream**

Blaise couldn't do it anymore. He hadn't gone without sex for this long ever since he started having it in the first place. His hormones were raging out of control, and he'd been 'polishing his flagpole' up to half a dozen times a day. His arm was about to fall off from overuse.

Practically every room he walked into, he'd discover Draco and Hermione embracing, kissing or dry-humping. They'd spring apart as soon as they saw him, but it was no good – the damage was done.

And as for last night...

Blearily, he stumbled out of bed and dragged himself to the bathroom. Barely acknowledging the kow-towing cherubs, who leapt into a three-part harmony that favourably compared the size of his todger with those from beasts of the wild, he shuffled into the shower, hit the hot water, and leaned his head against the tiled wall with his eyes closed.

Praying.

For something. Someone.

Oh, who the hell was he kidding? His flagpole wasn't going to polish itself.

With a grimace, he applied his hand to his heavy erection, closed his eyes, and polished away.

His traitorous brain invoked a memory from months ago. Before he met Gia _._

Standing in the showers at Hogwarts' Quidditch changing rooms, with a young, slim girl at his feet. Her wet red hair streamed around her as she dragged her tongue over his one of his heavy balls – before opening her mouth wide and drawing the sensitive flesh in. Gently kneading the other one, priming it for her mouth. Gods, it felt magnificent.

He sped up his hand, stroking himself hard, his eyes screwed shut against the dull, persistent ache in his forearm and the friction on his flesh. He could practically feel her –

A moan sounded nearby.

Very nearby.

He opened his eyes and practically leapt out of the shower in shock, pressing his hands against the tiles to keep himself upright. A young woman was in the shower, naked, on her knees before him. Her wet hair streamed around her shoulders, and one of his balls was in her mouth, swirling around her tongue. One of her hands encircled the fat girth of his cock and stroked it with strong, sure movements. Her other hand worked furiously between her legs.

'H-Hermione?' Blaise gasped. The water must be too hot; he has to be hallucinating.

She looked up, letting his testicle fall from her mouth. She nuzzled the other with her nose before replying, her hand keeping up those hard strokes on his skin. 'I know you've been suffering,' she whispered – then lashed the head of his cock with her tongue.

Blaise's thighs started shaking.

'I know you have needs.' She fed his other testicle into her hot, wet mouth. Her wicked tongue swirled around it before she pulled free.

The hand she'd been using to play with herself took over the strokes. Her fingers glistened with her luscious fluid. Blaise clamped his mouth together, keeping his moan of gods-forsaken bliss at bay. Gods, she feels so fucking good. Even if it's phenomenally wrong.

'I want to give you some relief, Blaise,' she whispered, twisting his hard flesh with both hands before stroking up and down. 'That's what friends are for.'

Then she plunged her mouth down his cock.

'Oh, fuck! Don't stop!' Blaise gritted, hardening even more as the head of his cock nudged the back of Hermione's throat. His cock made indecent sounds in her wet mouth.

He reached out with shaking hands and clutched her hair. 'I need this, babe,' he whispered almost wretchedly.

She looked up, her eyes magnified through the water.

Bracing himself against the wall, he thrust his hips, as gently as he could with the last remaining control he had of his body. Hermione gripped his thighs and gurgled as his cock surged in and out of her mouth. Her saliva spilled; she wiped it with her fingers and wanked his cock fiercely with her wet hand before pulling off him with a gasp.

'I'm going to come, baby...' It was almost a plea. His balls were about to explode, he was certain.

She gripped his cock with both hands, stroking to a furious rhythm. Her tongue laved the head of his cock, dipping into the slit and flicking, over and over.

'FUCK!'

Blaise almost smacked his head on the tiles as the force of his orgasm shot through his body. His first burst of come splashed across Hermione's face and into her open mouth; then she leaned back so her breasts received the remainder.

'Gods above!' he moaned, stroking his cock, keeping it aimed at her breasts as his come copiously laced them – briefly – before washing away in the cooling water.

Closing his eyes, Blaise's legs gave out and he slid down the wall to end in a huddle on the shower floor. He felt like he'd run a thousand laps around a Quidditch pitch. Finally catching his breath, he opened his eyes. 'Thank y' –

No-one was there.

It was a dream.

Another fucking dream!

Water went everywhere as he slammed his hands hard on the shower floor.

* * *

The three cherubs stared, open-mouthed, at the shower.

'We'll have to change line three in the song,' Cherub Number One whispered. 'I've never seen a centaur ejaculate like _that_.'

* * *

Draco watched Blaise plod into the kitchen, looking like he'd just done ten rounds with an acromantula. If ever there was a man who needed coffee, it was this bloke.

Blaise accepted the cup Draco held out with shaking hands. 'Thanks,' he whispered.

Draco looked at him sideways. 'Uh, looks like you have a problem.'

Blaise leaned against the kitchen benches and sighed. 'Mate, I need to get laid,' he said. 'Desperately.'

Oh. A hippogriff-sized problem.

'Was Gia the last...?' Draco asked delicately.

Blaise nodded, only just stopping himself from following through and bouncing his head off the kitchen bench.

Draco's regularly-exercised testicles shrunk a little in sympathy. It was well over six weeks since Blaise had had sex with something other than his hand - an abominably long time between drinks. If it were Draco, he'd would have been climbing the walls after a fortnight.

Blaise stiffened as Hermione breezed in to the kitchen. He barely breathed as she poured a cup of coffee before kissing Draco on the cheek. 'Running a little late, love. Someone took _forever_ in the shower this morning.' She threw Blaise a cheeky grin, but by the time he managed to crank his face into an unconvincing facsimile, she was gone, back to the bedroom she shared with Draco.

Draco raised an eyebrow. 'Mate, you look like you've seen a ghost.'

Blaise's eyes flashed with anger, leaving Draco a tad disturbed.

'It's seeing you two, all the time! Touching! Kissing! Trying to set each other's clothes on fire with friction!' Blaise spat.

'What is?' Draco boggled. Blaise was making no bloody sense at all.

Blaise slammed a hand down on the kitchen bench. 'You two!' he shouted. 'You're constantly fucking! When you're not fucking, you're constantly looking at each other like you want to start fucking! It's doing my bloody head in!'

Draco had a sneaking suspicion that societal norms dictated that he should apologise, but why the hell should he? 'I'll speak to Hermione,' he said stiffly. 'We'll tone it down, for your sake.'

'It's too damn late!' Blaise snapped.

'What do you mean? Speak sense, man!'

Blaise raised his head. Draco was looking into the eyes of a tortured young man. 'I keep dreaming about fucking her,' he croaked.

'Gia?'

'No!' Blaise lowered his voice. 'Hermione.'

Draco blinked. 'Uh, run that by me again?'

Blaise let out a pent-up breath. 'I've been dreaming,' he mumbled. 'About Hermione. Sometimes you're there. But always Hermione.'

Draco's mouth fell open, and the coffee in the cup he was clutching surged into choppy waves. 'Just to clarify,' he said slowly, putting the coffee cup on the bench, 'you've been fantasising about fucking Hermione... and me?'

'No! Gods, no!' Blaise said, raising his free hand up in surrender. 'Definitely not about fucking you. But Hermione – well, um, yeah.' My word, Blaise thought, these floor tiles are fascinating!

Hermione's shoes appeared in his field of vision and he jumped, scrambling around the kitchen table to put space between his body and her luscious – oh, dear Gods.

Hermione picked an apple from the fruit bowl on the bench, noting that the atmosphere in the kitchen had transformed from perfectly normal to Antarctic winter in all the time it took her to drink her coffee and do her hair. 'What the hell's the matter with you two?'

'Nothing,' they both chimed in the higher-toned voices of men who were in it up to their sodding necks.

She stared suspiciously at both sets of innocent eyes.

'All, right,' she said eventually. 'I want this 'nothing' sorted by the time I get home this afternoon, okay?'

'Yes, Ma'am,' they chorused meekly.

Draco waited until he heard the Floo whoosh Hermione away before carefully setting his coffee cup down on the bench. 'Well,' he said heavily. 'You heard what she said.'

Blaise swallowed. 'I did.'

'There's only one way to sort this out, of course.'

'Of course.'

Draco sighed. 'All right, where should we do it, then?'

Blaise stepped back into the kitchen and shrugged. 'Here should be fine.'

Draco nodded. Then he pulled his fist back and smacked Blaise in the jaw as hard as he could.

He crumpled like a house of cards onto the kitchen floor.

Draco leaned over him and held out a hand. 'Please don't fantasise about Hermione again,' he said. 'You're one of my closest friends. I don't like having to beat you up.'

Touching his tender jaw with one hand, Blaise accepted Draco's hand-up with the other. 'Trust me, I don't want to receive too many more of those in the future.'

'Good.' Draco changed the angles of their hands so they were clasped in brotherly solidarity. 'We'll find Gia, don't worry,' Draco promised. 'With Hermione on the case, it's as good as solved.'

'Thanks, mate,' Blaise replied, and applied a cooling charm to his jaw.

Good idea, though Draco. He applied one to his hand.

* * *

In fact, Hermione was on the case that very day. After having asked Maple to head to Harry's residence to do battle with Kreacher to borrow the Invisibility Cloak, Hermione spent her free lecture period not closeted in the Healer's library or studying with Jason and Erik (with whom she now got on with rather well) but sneaking past the Gobliness of Admissions and tiptoeing around the office's vast, wall-to-wall filing cabinets. The sheer number of them made Hermione feel a tad vertinigous.

She waited underneath an unoccupied desk until the fading sounds of trampling goblin feet indicated that it was lunchtime, and the Admissions Office was empty of staff.

Time for Hermione to investigate.

Twirling her wand, she whispered a location charm, invoking Gia's name. With irritation, she noted that that a number of filing cupboards glowed with positive intent. One was a long way up the walls. Quickly, she started on the ground floor cupboards. She located Gia's university application and her N.E.W.T. scores from Beauxbatons (very good, but not as good as hers, Hermione noted smugly). Another cupboard revealed correspondence regarding her place at Wizengamot school. Yet another revealed an accepted application to stay in the Witches' residence, plus a note dated from when she and Draco stayed in Italy, cancelling the request due to 'alternative arrangements made.'

All marginally interesting, but not what she was looking for. Gritting her teeth, she quietly rolled a ladder over to the last remaining file, and scaled it, careful not to step on the Cloak.

She pulled out the file, and quickly rifled through it. Ah! Here we go. Rossi, Giorgia...

WITHDRAWAL FROM UNIVERSITY

This was it.

* * *

 **That afternoon**

'Draco! I'm glad you're here.' Hermione came bustling through the Floo.

Draco looked up from his textbook. 'Hey, love,' he said, hopping up to kiss her. 'How did it go?'

Hermione's gaze skittered to the left.

'That's not good,' he observed, plonking down on the settee and guiding her down with him.

'Well, it doesn't make sense,' she replied, running a hand through her curls, instantly frizzing them up. 'Is Blaise here?'

'He is,' said the man himself, strolling into the living room and noticing their expressions (visible, since they weren't sucking each other's faces off). 'What's up?'

Hermione hopped up and put her Healer's face on. 'Blaise! Lovely to see you. Please, have a seat.' She indicated the settee opposite theirs.

Blaise sat down warily. 'Are you practising on me for an exam?'

'What? No! I have some information about Gia,' Hermione replied, realising – to her chagrin – that she'd dropped her bedside manner demeanour. She sat back down and recovered it.

'Blaise,' she said gently, 'I found some information in the Admissions Office that relates to Gia. It's potentially distressing news, so I want to make sure you feel like you're in a safe, nurturing place where you feel supported. Is there anything I can do to help you?'

Blaise looked at her as if her hair had turned into a nest of snakes. He glared at Draco. 'Can you make her stop, please?' he snapped.

Draco put a calming hand on his girlfriend's shoulder. 'Just give it to him straight, love.'

Hermione lashed Blaise with a glare of lingering resentment for interrupting her roleplay, then returned to the subject at hand. 'When you spoke to Gia's parents, they said they didn't know where Gia was. Is that correct?'

Blaise waved his hand. 'Yes, I told you that.'

'Oh.'

'Oh?' Draco and Blaise repeated.

'Because I found the paperwork that confirmed her withdrawal from the university.'

Blaise winced.

'It was signed by her father.'

* * *

Huh, thought Blaise. Betrayal hurts like a bitch, doesn't it? First Hogwarts and Ginny. Now this.

Then he got up and punched a hole in the living room wall.

* * *

 **A/N: Lemon, dreams and lots of plot! More to come...**


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: Farewell and adieu to ye foul-mouthed cherubs!**

* * *

While Hermione shrieked at the state of the living room wall, Draco leapt onto Blaise, struggling to stop the enraged wizard from leaping into the Floo and splinching himself from here to kingdom come. Although Italy, via the Ministry of Magic, was probably the destination he had in mind.

As valiant as Draco's efforts were, it was a rather one-sided battle. When Hermione uttered those fateful words, Blaise's Dr Banner demeanour decided to take a holiday, and the Hulk offered to look after things while he was away.

'Do something, for the love of Merlin!' Draco hollered to Hermione, tackling Blaise's legs like an All Black on a Wallaby* but only succeeding in gripping onto one leg for dear life.

Undaunted, Blaise staggered with determination towards the Floo, snarling 'Get the fuck off me, Malfoy! There's no way I'm gonna let you stop me!'

True. But Hermione's _Petrificus Totalus_ did, and he toppled stiffly over – right onto Draco's legs.

His howl of pain fell on deaf ears as Hermione levitated Blaise to the settee. Draco behaved with all the drama and maturity of a football player taking a dive as Hermione made sure Blaise wouldn't fall off before approaching her long-suffering man with a long-suffering sigh.

Kneeling down, she ran her wand in diagnostic mode over his legs, checking for injuries. She not-very-gently prodded his knee. 'Does that hurt?'

'Ow! Yes, damn you!'

'Good. Means you still have feeling in the limb.' She leaned over and kissed him on the nose. 'Better?'

'Not really,' he sulked.

'There's nothing wrong with your legs,' she promised, hopping up and heading to the hallway. At the door, she turned around and smirked. 'Do you know who you remind me of?'

'I haven't the slightest,' he sighed irritably.

'Your father!'

Draco sat bolt upright. 'You take that back, woman!' he shouted in mock outrage. Leaping up on his miraculously-cured legs, he chased his laughing girlfriend through the flat to their bedroom.

Hermione let Draco catch her, and they both toppled, breathless, onto their bed.

'See?' she smirked. 'Nothing wrong with your legs.'

Draco, lying over her, looked at her with a dangerous gleam in his eye. 'What if I had injured a more critical part?' he murmured.

Hermione wriggled a hand between their bodies and worked her way down. She found what she wanted and gave it a squeeze through his trousers.

Draco winced.

'Hard to tell,' she replied saucily. 'However, it seems to be engorging somewhat. Maybe it's inflamed? I should take a look.'

The brief pain in Draco's eyes disappeared. 'Would you, Healer?' he smirked. 'I believe it's been quite lethargic as of late.'

Hermione snorted, but that unbecoming noise was muffled by Draco's kiss, one that took her breath away and made her lower body tingle. 'Very well,' she smiled, working his trousers free. 'Turn your head and cough.'

'Why would I – AAARRRGGGHHHH! Slytherin's tits, your hand is freezing!'

* * *

Out in the living room, an immobilised Blaise listened, with growing horror, to the increasing sounds of Draco and Hermione's lusty congress.

Kill me, he prayed to every deity he knew, even the Roman Catholic God that was so popular in Muggle Italy. Please kill me.

* * *

 **(A/N: you thought there'd be a lemon here, didn't ya?) ;)**

* * *

Some time later, Draco guiltily recalled his conversation with Blaise earlier in the morning, to whit, the one about he and Hermione going at it like rabbits within his earshot. And possibly eyeshot.

'Shit,' he muttered as he leapt off the bed and hopped around the bedroom on one leg while shoving his other leg into his underwear.

'What?' Hermione asked.

'We forgot about Blaise!'

'Shit!' She covered her burning cheeks with her hands.

Once decently attired, she followed Draco out to the living room and peered over his shoulder while he removed the curse from Blaise.

Slowly, he sat up, his teeth chattering and rubbing the goosebumps on his arms. 'Firewhisky,' he whispered.

Hermione pressed a healthy tumbler of it into his shaking hands, and he downed the lot in one gulp while she wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. Once he could breathe again, he beseeched 'I promise I won't act so recklessly in future. And I'll fix your wall. But please, for the love of Merlin, don't punish me anymore by forcing me to listen to your very loud bouts of sex! I swear I'll behave!'

'Oh dear God...' That rather muffled oath came from Hermione, face hidden behind her hands again. 'Listen,' she said to Draco, 'I've had about as much embarrassment as I can take today. I'm going to study for my exam tomorrow. Can you two keep each other's company somewhere else for the evening, and, if possible, try not to get into any trouble?'

'Never fear, my dear,' Draco soothed, kissing her on the cheek. 'We'll hit up Theo and chat about weddings and bachelor parties and all that jazz. Sound good, Blaise?'

'Can we do it a pub?'

'Sure, why not?'

'I'm in.'

'No trouble!' Hermione hissed.

Draco spread his arms wide, the very picture of innocence. 'Who, us?'

* * *

 **The Odd Otter Tavern**

Draco, Blaise and Theo sat at a table in the ancient inn, working on their beers.

'You know, as the groom, I'm not supposed to know about the bachelor party plans,' Theo noted.

'And you won't! Draco promised. 'But the Assistant Bachelor Party Planner and I' – he indicated Blaise with his beer glass, who turned around to see who Draco was looking at – 'need to know what activities are a firm 'no' for you. So we don't end up causing too much unnecessary carnage.'

Theo eyed Draco sarcastically. 'You're a true friend, mate.'

Draco nodded faux-modestly in agreement. 'So, how about a stripper witch?'

'No,' Theo replied, taking a swig of beer.

'Stripper wizard?'

'No!'

'Stripper goblin?'

Theo spat out his beer. 'For fuck's sake, no! Blaise, you're promoted to Head Bachelor Party Planner. Draco, say hello to your new Lord and Master.'

'Hey!' Draco objected.

'Silence, minion!' Blaise ordered. He turned to Theo. 'Now that the adults are in charge, let's have ourselves a nice little discussion about a classy affair. What are your thoughts on cocktail parties?'

Draco groaned and slid under the table.

* * *

However, Draco was not without an ulterior motive for catching up with Theo. 'Thanks for letting Blaise stay with you and Lavender tomorrow night, mate,' he murmured as Blaise stood at the bar, fetching another round.

'No worries,' Theo replied, watching Blaise out of the corner of his eye. 'How is he, really?'

'Up and down,' Draco conceded. 'Drinking like a fish, and that's when he most maudlin. Better stock up.'

'Hmm.' Theo picked at a drinks coaster. 'If Lavender just disappeared without a trace, I'd be climbing the walls.'

Draco had already experienced that icy thought in relation to a certain curly-haired Valkyrie wrapped around his heart. 'Or breaking the walls,' Draco agreed.

'You say Hermione's helping Blaise look for Giorgia?'

'Yeah.'

Theo looked up from his shredded coaster, his blue eyes troubled. 'What if Giorgia doesn't want to be found?' he asked. 'What if Blaise finds her, and she says that she doesn't want to be with him anymore?'

Draco met his gaze steadily enough. But he had no answer.

* * *

 **Next afternoon**

Hermione stepped through the Floo, knackered, sweaty and frizzy. She'd just completed the major exam of the semester, a daunting and dizzying mixture of theory and practical, oral and demonstration which took all morning and a fair chunk of the afternoon. She felt like she'd run a marathon – achy, fragrant, and empty of fuel.

She was certain she'd led the class – there was no way Jason or Erik would have memorised all five thousand, seven hundred and fifty uses of dittany. Most people only knew of three or so.

Letting her bag clunk to the floor, she flopped face-first onto the settee and felt the muscles in her neck, shoulders and back unkink. Or try to.

Then she smelled something rather lovely.

Turning her head and opening an eye, a single sandalwood-scented candle hovered over the coffee table. It nodded at her and indicated the hallway.

If Draco is trying to finagle me into sex, he's got another think coming, she griped to herself. Not in this frizzy, sweaty, knackered state.

Still, curiosity compelled her to sit up – then cringe.

The silence in the living room thundered against her head, echoing ominously. The soft late afternoon light filtering through the lead-light windows felt like white-hot heat against her eyes. Her stomach churned.

She was getting a migraine.

Tears pooled in her eyes. It was so unfair!

A minute later, a gentle hand made smooth, light strokes down her spine. 'What is it, love?' Draco whispered.

Clutching her head, tears began to fall.

'Migraine?'

She couldn't nod. When she tried to speak, nothing came out except a sob.

With his wand, Draco immediately closed the heavy curtains in the living room, leaving just the light of the single candle. He scooped Hermione up and held her close. 'It'll be okay, love,' he breathed as he carried her to the bedroom.

Except it wasn't the bedroom.

In the low light, supplied by a dozen more candles, she discovered they were actually in...

... their _bathroom._

Or possibly someone else's bathroom.

From what she could see, it bore no resemblance to the revolting, psychedelic cesspit with accompanying choir of cackling cherubs that they'd been putting up with for weeks.

Even through her spaced-out state, Hermione could guess that two and two made Narcissa. She should be pissed at Draco for caving, but...

'It's beautiful,' she whispered against his skin. 'Thank you for holding out for so long.'

Draco, still holding Hermione firmly in his arms, glanced wryly around the room. After extracting the necessary counter-spells from his mother, who, no doubt, had a most amusing time extracting them, in turn, from her husband, he'd put a lot of effort into making the room look warm and inviting and terribly sexy, to celebrate the completion of their exams – but here Hermione was, grappling with the beginnings of a migraine.

But making her better far outweighed any disappointment he may have harboured.

The floor was laid with large black and white tiles. Taking up one side of the room was a large oval claw-foot bath. The wall behind the bath was painted black; the others were a soft, muted cream. An elaborate cast-iron chandelier loomed above. A black-lacquered chair upholstered on the seat and back with soft, crimson velvet provided a splash of colour; along with a red vase that Hermione spotted sitting on the vanity, which she suspected was an actual Lalique. A single white orchid sat inside it.

In a flash, Draco vanished her clothes.

'Not now, Draco,' she sighed wearily. 'I couldn't be any further from being in the mood if you tried.'

He chuckled and carried her to the full bath, and gently eased her in. The water smelled wonderful. 'Lavender, basil and peppermint,' he murmured, kneeling next to the bath and gently swirling a hand through the temperature-charmed water to release a gentle burst of scent. 'Muggle herbs associated with' –

'Migraine relief,' Hermione finished in wonder. She slid under the water, then slowly pulled herself up, pushing her wet hair behind her ears. 'You were actually paying attention when we walked through the Chelsea Physic Garden.'

'Just the bits about head pain,' he winked.

Tears pricked behind her eyelids, closed once more. 'I love you so much,' she whispered.

Something squeezed his heart. 'I love you too,' he replied softly.

If Hermione's eyes were open, she might have seen that Draco's silver eyes had a suspicious-looking glint to them.

Clearing his throat, he stood up. 'I'll bring you a pain relief potion, too,' he said. 'In the meantime' – he rinsed a facecloth under cool water at the basin, folded it and placed it over her eyes – 'relax, and try to shut that enormous brain of yours down and not _think_. Reckon you can do that?'

Hermione said nothing, but smiled to herself as he left the bathroom.

I'm afraid, dear Draco, that's utterly impossible.

* * *

A few minutes later, Draco entered the bathroom carrying a goblet, whose contents fizzed and smoked with ominous intent. Hermione pulled the facecloth off and cranked an eye open to regard his offering with suspicion.

'I know it doesn't look that great,' Draco conceded as he handed it over. 'Best drink it in one go.'

It was on the tip of Hermione's tongue to demand what in Sam Hill was percolating in the goblet, but now was as good a time as any to show Draco that she trusted him. She took a deep breath and sculled it back – then clamped her hand over her mouth as she gagged.

Draco swiftly tapped his wand to the goblet, and it refilled with cool elderflower cordial. 'Doesn't taste that great, either,' he admitted, handing it over.

Gratefully, she gulped long draughts of the cordial down. 'What was in it?' she now felt it was safe to ask.

Draco handed the facecloth back. 'We can chat later. Close your eyes and relax, okay?' He dropped a gentle kiss on her lips.

'Okay,' she murmured, getting comfortable, feeling the heavenly water gently swirl around her tired body.

From the door, Draco silently applied a charm that would go off like Armageddon if her head fell below the waterline, then left.

* * *

 **Later**

Hermione started awake, lurching up in the bath, sending water tidal-waving this way and that. How long was she asleep? She looked at her fingers, grimacing at the wrinkles in her fingers. Why was she even in the bath? She didn't recall drawing one –

Her migraine.

Gingerly, she shook her head. Okay. Glanced at the candles. Okay. Rapped her knuckles against the tub and listened to the clang. Okay.

She was okay.

She was okay!

The migraine had gone before it really kicked in!

'Feeling better, love?'

She twisted around and beamed at Draco, leaning against the door jamb and looking wary. 'I am!' she said joyfully, reaching out a hand to him. 'What on earth was that revolting tonic you gave me? Between that and the bath, you've worked a miracle!'

Draco's modesty was real this time. He levered himself off the door jamb and knelt by the tub. 'It's something 'I've been working on in Potions,' he said. 'In fact, it was my final assignment: a pain-relief potion dedicated to curing headaches and migraines.'

Hermione's mouth fell open.

'I got some marks deducted because it tastes pretty foul,' he admitted.

'That's unfair!' she retorted. Then she recalled its taste. 'Huh. Maybe your professor has a point.'

'Well, he said he'd re-grade me if I come back with a palatable potion by Friday. Any particular flavour you'd prefer?'

'Umm... how about raspberry?'

Draco smiled and learned towards her. 'Your wish...' he murmured, and kissed her lips.

He was about to pull away when she opened her mouth, inviting him in. Encouraged, he parted his own lips against hers and slid his tongue inside her mouth, dancing with hers; exploring. Her chest was clear of the water, and he could plainly see that her nipples had hardened – not just in reaction to the cooler air, he was willing to hope. And bet.

He pulled away slightly, looking into her eyes. 'Are you sure?' he hedged.

She nodded. 'I want you to fuck me in this bath,' she breathed, her lips wet from his kiss.

Draco had no problem with that.

Standing up, he vanished his clothes, his erection already hard and heavy. He took a step towards the bath, but Hermione stopped him with a hand on his thigh. Looking up at his face, she licked her lips and moved her hand from his thigh to wrap around his cock. Stroking it, she licked around the head with her tongue, teasing. He drew in his breath at her touch.

She opened her mouth and engulfed the head, sucking it into her wet heat. Draco hissed as, with each stroke of her hand, she pulled inch after inch of his cock into her mouth. Her tongue brushed the underside of his shaft as she fucked his cock with her mouth. Her hand slid smoothly along his wet length with fast, firm, strokes –

'No more,' he muttered, stepping free. 'I'm not going to come with you in the bath and me out of it.'

She looked at him silently, with her wet lips barely parted. Her large eyes locked with his.

It was amazing how she could bring him to his knees without even saying a word.

His eyes glittered. 'You want me to fuck you hard?'

She licked her lips and swallowed. His erection became so hard it was almost painful. 'Yes.'

Before he fell for Hermione, he was what a number of young women of his acquaintance called 'a hard fuck,' albeit with a longing in their voice. With the delicate-boned, wraith-like ones or the girls who gave him their virginity, he was patient and dedicated, treating them carefully in his bed. But with the girls who accepted his advances with knowing eyes and wet lips, he fucked them hard. Sometimes it was the only way he could make himself _feel_.

But with Hermione, he felt. Every single fibre of his being felt.

He hadn't fucked her hard before. He almost didn't want to.

But the dark side of him that remained wanted to submit her to his will. To draw out her pleasure on his terms, and his alone. To watch her beg him for release while he let his dark fantasies loose.

Loose, but leashed. He could never hurt her. Ever.

Standing at the edge of the bath, he drew himself to his full height. 'I need a safe word.'

Hermione nodded. 'Daisies.'

'And a safe signal.'

This time, she wet her lips with her tongue and swallowed. 'Clicking my fingers twice.'

He nodded, his jaw set, then he slid into the water. Slowly he moved towards her until his body hovered over hers and their lips shared the same breath. 'Promise me you'll use those signals before it gets too much,' he murmured. 'I'll fuck you hard, love, but I refuse to hurt you. If I find marks on your body afterwards, this will never happen again.'

Hermione's body trembled from the intensity of his tone. 'I will,' she breathed.

'You will do what I say. No arguing or negotiating. If you don't like it, use the safe word.'

Her body strained for his touch. 'Yes.'

His eyes hardened. 'Yes, what?'

She squeezed her thighs together, trying to stimulate her clitoris. She was certain she'd never been this turned on. 'Yes, Draco.'

His smile was cold. 'Good.'

His hand closed around her throat, and with his thumb he pushed her chin up to meet his commanding kiss.

* * *

 **A/N: to be continued... as quickly as I can, promise!**

* * *

 ***The nicknames of New Zealand and Australia's national rugby union teams, respectively.**

 **The actual wallaby is a marsupial that's commonly found in Australia. Like a kangaroo, but smaller. Not that good at playing rugby.**


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: NSFW** **NSFW** **NSFW** **NSFW** **NSFW** **NSFW** **NSFW** **NSFW** **NSFW** **NSFW I'm not kidding!**

 **We've cracked 1800 reviews for this story; thank you so much! It's way surpassed Treacherous Affairs' (original) mark of around 1500, so: yay!**

 **But you don't want to know about that, do you, dear readers? Time to let you off the leash and read, read, read ;)**

 **Lemon alert: an entire tree's-worth of lemons, I should think! Not for the faint-hearted – you have been warned.**

* * *

After stealing Hermione's kiss and breath from her body, Draco let her go and moved to the opposite end of their gigantic bath. Water slipped and slurred over the edges. He lay against the bath's edge, hooking his arms around it lazily. His gaze was hooded.

'Suck my cock.'

Swallowing, Hermione headed over to him, bracing herself against the bath's sides. She saw his erection through the water, magnified to a daunting size.

He didn't raise his hips. When she stole a glance at him, his face was chiselled.

'Now.' His tone brooked no argument.

She took a deep breath and slid under the water, gripping his erection a little harder than she would ordinarily have dared. He didn't move. Wrapping her lower legs around his ankles, she put her lips to his head then quickly pulled his cock into her mouth, forming a tight seal so as to not let too much water enter. Stroking his shaft firmly, she moved down, swallowing his head and as much of his length as she could, sucking hard.

Her hearing was clouded by the surrounding water. She didn't hear Draco's intake of breath. And she couldn't see how he tilted his head back, eyes closed against the brief, glorious streak of pain that pulsed through the pleasure.

He couldn't remember the last time he was this hard. And that was saying something.

Hermione's head broke clear of the water. She gasped for breath and pushed her streaming-wet hair back over her head.

Draco looked at her with the same cool expression he'd had since he kissed her. 'Again.'

Chest heaving, Hermione stared at him, discomforted. She didn't know who this Draco was, even though the rational side of her knew he'd die before he hurt her. He looked completely aloof, unmoved by her actions, her body, her presence.

Until she looked into his eyes. Normally cool and grey, now they burned.

She slid beneath the water again, making her way to his almost-pulsing erection.

* * *

After her third descent, eyes closed against the water, Hermione felt an elegant hand descend on her head – and lock her head in place. Her mouth full of Malfoy, her eyes flew open in alarm. She was stuck.

She still had breath remaining, so she fought her instinct to break free and kept sucking his cock. Drawing her fingers around his smooth balls, she couldn't resist the temptation to pinch them – and was rewarded with his fingers clutching her head in instinctive response.

She fellated his cock until she felt her cheeks bulge and her lungs burn. She felt light-headed, and she realised she was in the early stages of hypoxia. Lack of oxygen to the brain. Yet still he kept her head underwater. Her heart pounded from exhilaration and fear. How long would he force her? Does he know what he's even doing?

Her body rebelled. Her legs kicked out and her hand broke free of the water, fingers drawn together to click. Instantly, his grip on her head loosened and she surged up, water heaving out of the bath, drawing great amounts of air into her starved body.

Disoriented and dizzy, her body swayed dangerously as he hooked his arms around her thighs and settled her pussy on his mouth. Ravenously, he stabbed into her core with his tongue, in and out, much faster than his cock ever could. Still gasping, hair streaming with water and glued to her face, she clutched his head with taloned fingers, trying to find his rhythm and ride him so she didn't tip over and fall. Her other hand scrabbled for purchase against the black wall.

Draco withdrew from her soaking wet core and lashed hard at her clitoris with his tongue, pulling on it with his lips. He was hard, fast and brutal, alternating between her assaulted bundle of nerves and drinking deep from her cunt. Sensation coursed through Hermione's body, tinged by the _frisson_ of...

...fear...?

A stranger was fucking her with his mouth. A stranger's arms snaked around her thighs, anchoring her lower body in place. A stranger's wet blonde hair was clutched desperately in her fingers. A stranger's eyes stared up at her. Hard. Soulless.

She ground down on him, hard; not caring whether this stranger suffocated or not. His tongue speared deeper inside her, and she felt the warm curl of her orgasm approach.

He growled, deep in his throat; a sound she'd never heard before. The vibration of his vocal cords rippled through to his tongue and Hermione gasped; she felt every vibration keenly. Her body tensed for her orgasm –

But Draco pulled her off him.

Starved of her release, she shrieked in vexation – then her breath left her body as he shoved her against the black wall. A wandless spell raised her arms and secured them in place.

Breathing hard, Draco pushed her hair away from her face – then he held her face in his hands and kissed her, drawing her breath from her once more as she tasted the salt-sweetness of her body on his lips and tongue.

He pulled away, just far enough to capture her stare. 'Enough?' he rasped.

Swotty Hermione banged against her frontal lobes for attention, but it was no use. Sultry, wanton Hermione wanted her orgasm. She deserved it. 'Make me come,' she half-bargained, half-pleaded.

Draco's brows knitted together. 'No.'

 _Fait accompli._

'Do your worst,' she taunted. Her nipples strained for his touch.

A spark briefly ignited his gaze, and before she could speak again, his hand pressed against her throat, cutting off her air once more. 'Never ask me to do that,' he snarled. 'Understand?'

He let her nod; once, twice.

He removed his hand, and she gasped for breath again, howling in need as he slid two long fingers into her cunt and speared them in and out of her at a brutal pace. His palm bumped against her clit with each hard thrust. In the space of a second, Hermione's orgasm came out of hiding and marched toward her release. God, she needed it, she needed it so bad...

Draco's lips were at her ear, whispering harshly. 'I can feel your body, love,' he gritted, not letting the pace drop. 'Your pussy's clutching my fingers. You're desperate for it, aren't you?'

'Y-yes,' she gasped, closing her eyes and focussing on the swirling sensation building in her pelvis. 'Draco, I need it, I have to come...'

'Is that a fact?' he taunted with his beautiful mouth, his tongue pulling her earlobe inside. She didn't think it was possible, but he sped his fingers up, and Hermione knew she would gush all over his hand, over the bath, over the wall, down her legs – and she didn't care, it felt so fucking good...

'Draco!' she gasped, writhing like a fish on a line. 'Oh gods, I'm' –

He pulled his fingers out of her body and moved away.

'FUCK!' she screamed in frustration. Half-sobbing, she glared at him. 'Why?'

The corner of his mouth tilted, looking her slowly up and down as he stroked himself. 'Because I can, my dear,' he replied in a tone she didn't like. 'You don't come until I say you can. _If_ I say you can.'

Frustrated almost beyond sanity, Hermione tried to un-stick her hands from the wall, but of course, they held fast. Traitorous tears glistened on her eyelashes and she lowered her head.

Draco's voice was dead. 'Enough?' he asked again.

She raised her head and glared at him. 'Not even close,' she spat.

He acknowledged her riposte with a circling motion of his index finger. Suddenly, Hermione found herself spinning around, staring at the wall while she slid further down. Her arms were bent, but still stubbornly fastened to the wall.

She couldn't see, but heard Draco move behind her. Her heart began to pound.

'Good,' he replied, and smacked one of her luscious buttocks with his open hand.

Hard.

* * *

The sting of his hand on her flesh took Hermione by surprise, and she gasped before yelping. Heat bloomed over her assaulted buttock. She was still processing how she felt she felt about this when he delivered another stinging blow to her other buttock. She couldn't keep a second yelp from escaping.

Ignoring her, Draco delivered spank after spank to her bottom, never landing on the same place twice. Soon, Hermione began to wail with each delivery, twisting her body from side to side in a vain effort to escape his assault.

'Say the safe word,' he gritted, still not letting up.

'No!' she cried, trying to stimulate her neglected clitoris between the top of her thighs.

Instantly, his lips were at her ear again. 'Liking it, huh?' he taunted.

'Please fuck me,' she whispered against the wall.

'Like this?' he asked, and a second later his hard length filled her pussy in one smooth stroke.

'Gods, yes,' she keened.

He began to stroke in and out of her in deep, measured thrusts. 'Your cunt is dripping, did you know that?' he said in a voice he might have used to describe the weather. 'Your lovely cunt is leaking its juices on your thighs. So beautiful,' he sighed, and began to fuck her faster.

Hermione bit her lip hard. She didn't want to let him know how close she was to release.

'Bet you're wondering when I'm going to let you come, huh?'

She moaned in the affirmative, and he slowed down. She heard the slick sound of their flesh connecting over the sloshing waves in the bath.

'Not like this, that's for sure,' he said. 'But since you've been a very good girl, I'll tell you, if you like.'

'P-please,' Hermione moaned. Her legs were shaking.

He laid a gentle kiss between her shoulder blades. 'You, my dear, are going to come with my cock shoved right inside your gorgeous little arse.'

* * *

Before Hermione could react, he'd accio'd some lubricant from who knows where and spread it over his finger and around the entry to her arse. She felt his finger on her little rosette and it felt so naughty, it was _good_...

'Yes or no?' he whispered.

She didn't even have to think. 'Yes, Draco,' she begged. That morphed into a moan as Draco slowly inserted his finger into her body.

She started to shake. 'I'm going to come,' she confessed on a sob.

With his spare hand, he wrapped her hair around and it pulled her head back. 'Good girl for telling me,' he said and to her utter regret, he pulled his cock out of her.

He worked in silence for a while, easing his finger in and out of her arse until she could take it easily. Pulling out, he lubricated a second finger and brushed both around her hole. 'Yes or no?' he asked again.

'Draco... I want you take my arse and fuck it until I scream out your name. I need to come, please...' She was certain a mere breath of wind over her clit would make her convulse.

Draco let out a breath of air, but no words. Silently, he breached her arse once more.

She screamed, and Draco nearly panicked. He started to back his fingers out but she begged 'No, no, omigod it feels so fucking good I can barely stand it...'

He continued to work his way into her tight space, imagining how those tight, smooth walls would feel when he took her in the arse. His cock was like stone, and needed nothing more than the odd stroke to keep him there. When his fingers were fully inside her, he put his lips to her ear again.

'I'm going to take your arse, Granger,' he whispered, pumping his fingers slowly in and out. I'm going to breach your arse with my cock and fill you all the way up. It's going to feel so good, love, I can't wait to feel you convulse with my cock shoved in your arse like the dirty little girl I bet you want to be, isn't that right?'

Hermione's teeth were gritted, and she grunted low in her throat each time his fingers surged in. 'Yes,' she bit out.

He slapped her buttock, and she wailed.

'Yes, what?' he whispered.

'Yes, Draco,' she moaned.

She was pushing back against his hand, so he spread his fingers inside her, accommodating her to his size. At last, he decided that she was ready.

He unstuck her from the wall and bent her over so her hands gripped the edge of the bath with her legs open for him. Lubricating his cock, he almost salivated at the sight she made. Her pussy lips were plump and glossy, and streaks of her juice still continued to drip down her thighs. So very tempting, but he was after another prize tonight.

He pressed his cock to the entrance of her arse, and she moaned in need. 'Deep breath in,' he muttered, and as she did so, he pushed through her entrance and past her sphincter muscle, swearing as it gripped him unbelievably tightly.

'Oh gods oh gods...' Hermione moaned, flinging her head back. Draco eased himself slowly and smoothly into her tight anal passage, trying not to pass out from the sheer fucking bliss of it.

Eventually, she took his entire cock, and his balls soon became wet from her leaking pussy. After giving her some time to adjust to his presence, he murmured 'I'm going to fuck your arse, love. Come any time you want. Safe word is still applicable, all right?'

'Come with me,' Hermione gasped. 'Want to come when you come.'

He smiled. 'We'll see.'

He withdrew a little and surged inside again. Over and over he did this, withdrawing further each time, until his cock entirely withdrew from her now-widened entrance. He marvelled at her body. Beautiful, succulent thing.

He began to fuck her in earnest, plunging her cock into her arse over and over, thrilling to Hermione's moans of need. Bracing her arms, she pushed against him so he could shove his cock in to the very base of her.

He felt his balls draw in; his orgasm was approaching. He snaked a hand around Hermione's body and played with her clitoris, plucking it with his fingers.

Her whole body shook. 'I can't – oh gods' –

'Come for me, love,' he gritted, his thrusts starting to jerk. 'Oh fuck' –

Hermione howled as her desperately-needed orgasm exploded from her body, making every limb tremble as her body bucked around Draco's cock.

Draco's own orgasm nearly took him off his feet. The sensation took over his body and he had no recollection of what he did or said for the good minute it took for his orgasm to crest, then subside.

Breathing hard, he gently pulled out and enveloped her still-shaking limbs into a tight hug. He gently kissed her temple and said in a low voice 'Don't ask me to do that again, love. Okay?'

Hermione's voice had disappeared for the time being, so she nodded her head and breathed in deeply. Once is enough, she thought as she sank down into the bath and drowsily watched Draco turn the taps on.

Or was it?

* * *

 **A/N: Well, I'm speechless. How about you?**

 **Back to the plot next chapter!**


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: You asked for lemon, and I lemoned my butt off! My keyboard's still sizzling from the previous chapter. Oh, the things those keys have seen...**

 **Although I probably shouldn't have used 'daisies' as Hermione's safe word, considering I have a character called Daisy. Who reappears in this chapter. Oh, well. Live and learn.**

 **Thanks for your feedback, it's encouraging to know that I haven't dropped my lemon game.**

 **But now, we must return to the plot. Was anyone missing Crooks? I'm such a bad pseudo cat-kneazle mummy.**

 **Also, a BILLION apologies for the delay in getting this chapter done. Why, oh why, must I have to work for a living? *sob***

 **This chapter is going to be stupidly short, but I'd rather give you something little than a big nothing at all.**

* * *

 **October 25** **th**

The day, or rather, evening, of the BAFTAs arrived, and with it, the culmination of weeks of desperate planning on Will's behalf, cramming on Draco's behalf, coaching on Hermione's behalf and being way too excited to sleep on Daisy's behalf.

Everything was proceeding according to plan. In between his Potions classes and exams, Draco studied everything Will threw at him about Troy's public and private lives. Hermione tested him, incentivising him with the removal of an article of her clothing for every correct answer, and the woeful returning of said clothing to her body if he got an answer wrong.

But as we all know, Draco is a very apt pupil...

Troy phoned Daisy from his mystery quarantine and formally asked her if she would do him the honour of accompanying him (actually it's Draco, but it's a BIG secret, love) to the BAFTAs as his plus one, if her parents said it was okay.

Her resulting shriek of omigod-laced affirmation nearly punctured poor Troy's eardrum.

* * *

He struck a slight snag when he entered into negotiations with the Dorchester matriarch. 'Are you sure you don't want a woman with more _experience_ to accompany you, Troy?' Samantha purred down the phone while Daisy made vomiting noises in the background. 'I've seen _all_ your movies, you know.'

Troy gulped uneasily. Did she mean she's somehow gotten hold of the 'home movies' he made with Sage? The same movies Sage swore she'd deleted off her phone but for all he knew were headlining every porn channel the internet had to offer? He'd looked - very diligently - for them, dedicating hours to the search, but so far, had come up empty-handed. Rather messily so.

Troy bit his fingernails. Will will _kill_ him if any of those videos became public.

'Mrs Dorchester,' he schmoozed, 'my manager is most firm on this point. I need to cement my fandom, among the thirteen-to-sixteen age bracket.' He prayed Daisy was aged between thirteen to sixteen.

Samantha puffed out a disappointed sigh before rallying. 'Well,' she sighed throatily, 'when you need to cement your 'fandom' with women between twenty-five and thirty-five, I do so hope you'll remember me.'

Daisy rolled her eyes so hard she gave herself a headache. Her tramp of a mother was fifty years old! She'd seen her driver's licence and all.

* * *

Anyway, the great day finally arrived!

Daisy was whisked out of school (no hardship, that) and was despatched to a beauty salon where she was washed, conditioned, toned, dried, buffed, clipped, shined and painted until she looked 'lovely,' according to Samantha, but in reality like a twenty-five-year-old high-class hooker.

Back home, Daisy slammed and locked her bedroom door on her protesting mother, adjusted her hair and make-up until she could pass for a sassy sixteen-year-old, and carefully climbed into the dress she bought under Hermione's wise advisement (and over her mother's sulks, because she refused to try on a slinky black snakeskin halter-neck dress with a neckline that plunged to the navel and floor-length skirt with a side-split that went up to her hip bone).

Samantha cheered herself up by buying it for herself, instead.

* * *

In Draco and Hermione's flat, one member of the household didn't want Draco to go out tonight. So while he was in the bathroom, making sure his hair was identical in every way to Troy's signature style, that member of the household jumped on the bed and lounged comfortably on top of Draco's tuxedo, waiting to be formed over his tall and sexy frame.

Draco's roar of rage bought Hermione sprinting from the study table with her Healer's kit, presuming Draco had accidentally chopped off a finger or some other equally-needed body part. Flying into the bedroom, she pulled up short at the sight of a gloriously naked and angry Adonis, shouting and jabbing his finger at an unconcerned kneazle-cat, who was industriously occupied in rolling every inch of his fluffy body over the tuxedo, generously layering it with strands, and – dare I even say – _clumps,_ of orange fur.

Hermione tried not to laugh. 'Why did you leave the tux on the bed?' she managed.

Draco turned his icy glare on her. 'Because I've lived the past eighteen years of my life in a house and a school dorm that isn't occupied by the devil incarnate, currently walking this earth disguised as a fat, orange shedding mechanism!'

Hermione bristled. 'Crooks is _not_ fat.'

Crooks, who'd rolled onto his back and couldn't see over his enormous tum for love nor money, chirped in agreement.

Draco wanted to grip his hair with frustration, but he'd undo all his hard work turning into Troy. (He would have asked Troy to send a few strands of hair over for a Polyjuice potion, if he could only have come up with a reasonable answer to Troy's inevitable 'What the hell do you want that for?')

'Whatever, love. Can you at least get him off my tux so I can get dressed?'

Hermione collected up the (not that she'd admit it to Draco) heavy orange puffball and settled him in her arms, while looking hungrily at the toned and lightly golden arse that was on display as its owner _scourgified_ his tuxedo. She still got shivers down her spine when she thought back to that evening in the bath…

Draco felt his skin prickle. He was being watched. He turned around and confirmed that there were indeed two pairs sweeping over his naked body – one lovingly (cat); and one hungrily (girlfriend).

He quelled both with a much watered-down Malfoy Look as he pulled on his underwear. 'I don't have time for chin scratches or sex.'

Crooks jumped to the floor and slunk out in disappointment mode. Hermione's shoulders slumped. Her lower lip jutted out.

'Oh, no, not the lip,' Draco muttered, and hopped over to her while still pulling on his trousers. 'Darling,' – he kissed her pouty lip – 'you know I can't be late. Will's got everything scheduled down to the millisecond.'

'I know,' she sighed, brushing her hands over his taut torso. 'But I'm just _so_ horny...'

Inwardly, Draco sobbed in despair. A horny Hermione is a glorious gift, to be refused only by the unutterably stupid. For a moment, his resolve softened, and a part of his anatomy hardened.

But then he thought of Daisy - young, lonely Daisy with the abominable family and snotty school acquaintances, who'd been burning up the minutes on both his and Hermione's phones with questions, comments, observations, memes and GIFs galore on Troy, the BAFTAs and how she was so excited she could barely eat, sleep or study.

With super-wizard strength and regret, he pulled away. 'Will you still be horny when I get back?' he asked hopefully.

She stared at him, then shrugged.

Draco trudged back to the bed and got dressed. Maybe he could convince Daisy to call it an early night?

* * *

 **A/N: I'm still working on the story, promise! Please hang around xx**


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: Thank you again and again for your reads and kind reviews, folks! I'm not updating as much as I'd like to, but your reviews fill me with the warm fuzzies and spur me to carry on, regardless. Hope you enjoy this new chapter.**

* * *

In the limousine, Draco took a deep breath in. And out. And in. And out. And – well, you get the idea.

Sitting opposite, juggling papers and folders and barking into an earpiece, Will stared at Draco in alarm.

'What's wrong? Do you have asthma? Troy doesn't have asthma!'

Draco knew not of this 'asthma' of which Will spoke, but said 'I'm psyching myself up for meeting Daisy's Mum as Troy.'

Will muted his earpiece. 'She can't be that bad, surely.'

Draco's glowering silence felt uncomfortable, so Will unmuted his earpiece and continued yapping away to some minion from England's version of La-La Land. Draco, looking fabulously, sinfully sexy as Troy in his tuxedo and luscious, gleaming Troy hair, stared out of the window, watching night-time London suburbia swish by.

It's not that he wasn't confident he could pull this caper off. Of course not! Malfoys thrived in high-pressure environment, the likes of which he was just about to enter.

But... you know. Without his wand... or a great deal of exposure to the Muggle world. And without Hermione...

A trickle of traitorous sweat crept down his neck.

Draco clenched his hands into fists. It will be fine. Will won't be far away. And Daisy won't leave my side.

All too soon, the luxurious limousine pulled up outside the Dorchester's residence. Draco could already see anonymous forms peeking from behind neighbourly curtains.

The hired chauffeur opened his door, and Draco's masquerade began. He assumed Troy's wide-eyed and cheerful personality, and prayed to Merlin for all he was worth.

* * *

'Dahhhhhling!'

Samantha both gushed and beamed as she flung open the front door to their house. Before Draco could knock. 'So glad to finally meet you at last!' Her arms opened wide, and Draco braced himself for impact.

Her rock-solid nipples were worse than Draco remembered, he winced. This time, she clearly wasn't wearing a bra.

He disentangled himself from her octopus-like clutches and introduced her to Will, who got a good view of the woman blatantly squeezing Draco's arse with both hands. His eyebrows had yet to descend from their heights of surprise at this shoddy show of class.

Samantha had already written Will off as the 'help,' and barely spared him a glance and a cool 'hello' before leading them into the living room, her hips swinging seductively.

Fixing the men an _aperitif_ (a beer) at the 'bar' (the china hutch), she poured herself another 'daily' – a triple-strength Barcelona-style gin and tonic with lemon, rosemary, salt, caperberries and arbequina olives. Once the ingredients, gin and ice were crammed into the glass, there wasn't a lot of room left over for tonic water. Draco's eyes hurt to look at it. He sucked back on his below-average beer with quietly increasing desperation.

Draco's eyes hurt even more when Samantha flung herself into a low, leather swivel chair, stirring her finger through her drink and then fellating it clean. But it wasn't that lewd gesture that had him yearning for his wand so he could _scourgify_ his eyes. Oh, no. The woman was wearing a long black dress with a neckline that plunged to the navel and a long skirt with a split that went up to her hip. When she sat down in the chair and crossed her legs, both Draco and Will could clearly see she wasn't wearing any underwear.

Draco glanced at Will, who was beginning to look rather green.

'Are you and your husband going out tonight?' Draco/Troy asked faintly.

Samantha snorted. Bill was in his study, leering at topless women online. For 'research.'

'No, I'm afraid I don't have plans,' Samantha said with glinting eyes, hoping like mad that Troy would get the hint and invite her along to the BAFTAs.

'Oh,' Draco/Troy mumbled, surprised. 'I must say, that's a, um, lovely dress to wear around the house.'

Samantha looked down at her vast expanse of bared flesh with poorly-disguised surprise. 'What? This old thing?'

She tried to laugh carelessly, but it came out sounding like a backfiring car. It was looking obvious that Troy wasn't picking up the chaperone hint. Maybe that shaved gorilla he came with might be an easier mark?

Will's bow-tie felt rather too tight as Samantha's overly made-up stare zeroed on him.

'And what is it that you do, Will?' Samantha asked between big slurps of gin.

'I... I manage Troy's career,' he replied, clutching his beer like a lifeline. 'Find him opportunities, and manage his publicity, help his career along, and all that.' Dear God, he thought. Out of the loins of this woman came that sweet, star-struck teenager he met at the Granger household?

'Reaaaaallllllyyyyyy?' Samantha asked, like he'd just uttered the most important words in the world. She leaned forward, treating both men to an all-access view of her husband's surgical prowess. 'Well, with your wealth of experience in the entertainment industry, don't you think it's inappropriate that a girl of my daughter's tender years is going to such an event without a chaperone?'

Will and Draco locked eyes while Samantha inhaled more gin.

A sound behind them; and Samantha did her best to look like a proud mummy. 'And there she is!' she cooed, gnashing her molars around an ice cube. 'The lady of the hour.'

Draco and Will turned around, and there, stepping uncertainly down the stairs and into the hallway, came Daisy – a very different-looking Daisy to the one Draco knew. She looked lovely in an ashes-of-roses knee-length dress, with a light and floaty chiffon skirt, a tiny bow at the waist and a lace v-neck bodice in the same colour. Her long hair fell down her back in loose curls, and – since it was Daisy, after all – she'd coloured some of the ends of her hair in different tones of pink. She eschewed the spider's legs that passed for false eyelashes that the salon practically superglued to her eyelids. The overly made-up trout pout that her mother insisted on was replaced by simple, glossy rose lipstick.

Which she was now nibbling a tad nervously.

Draco stood and headed to the hallway. His heart was experiencing some odd emotions. When he looked at Daisy, standing there all shy and beautiful, he felt... he was pretty sure he felt _proud._ Proud of Daisy at looking so lovely and being so brave to agree to such a madcap caper as this. He swallowed. This is how he'll feel when he has his own children, he knew.

'D-Daisy?' Draco/Troy stuttered, wide-eyed, as he stepped towards her. 'Is that really you?'

Daisy's eyes lit up and she dashed over. 'Troy!' she exclaimed a little too forcefully, wrapping her arms around his waist for a hug. 'I can't believe it's time to go to the BAFTAs!' She spied Will, who was hustling out of the living room and away from her mother, and gave him a hug, too. 'Hi Will!' she grinned. 'Thank you so much for letting me come to the BAFTAs.'

'Well, actually,' Samantha honked, but Draco/Troy got in first.

'A little bird told me what you'd be wearing tonight,' he said bashfully, rummaging around in his pocket, 'and I hope you don't mind, but I would love for you to accept this small token of my appreciation for helping me out tonight.'

Will's eyebrows headed north again. They'd not discussed any sort of gift for Daisy, but the boy obviously comes from the loftier echelons of society, where there were rules that governed this sort of thing.

Draco pulled out a small velvet box and handed to Daisy - whose large eyes were out on stalks - with a gorgeous grin.

'I – er – um' -Daisy's ability to speak deserted her while she fumbled with the lid. But it came roaring back when she saw what lay inside: a delicate chain holding a pendant with two daisies – one with silver petals and one with pink gemstone petals. 'OH. MY. GOD! It's – it's daisies!' she cried, holding the necklace carefully up to the light.

'Sure is, kid,' Draco/Troy agreed. 'Want to try it on?'

'Yes!' she shrieked, jumping up and down before gathering up her hair so Draco could put the necklace around her neck.

'There you go.'

Daisy gently felt the daisies at her throat. 'It feels so light!' she said, awed. 'Thank you so much, Troy. I'll treasure it forever.'

'Hmph,' Samantha sniffed, looking at the necklace through the bottom of her nearly-empty gin glass. 'Quite pretty for some cheap silver and glass.'

Draco, who'd sourced the pink sapphires, diamonds and white goblin gold from the Malfoy vaults, ignored Samantha and pulled out a smaller box from his other pocket. 'I couldn't resist this one, either,' he confessed.

Actually, it was a bloody trial and a half convincing the goblin jeweller to make it, since he'd never heard of this type of jewellery before. In the end, Hermione had to download some pictures from the Internet on her parents' computer and give them to the jeweller – pictures which were received, not with gratitude, but with much whinging and whining.

But the goblin saw Draco's way in the end. After Draco angrily shoved in his long-nosed face ten times the amount of money it would have cost him to make it.

But anyway. The look on Daisy's face – and Samantha's, if he must be honest – would be worth it.

Daisy squeaked with joy when the little box revealed a nose stud in 'cheap pink glass' – aka a tiny pink sapphire set in white goblin gold. 'Omigod! Thank you! I'll try it on right now!' She started pulling her current nose stud out where she stood, until a pointed cough from Samantha made her blush, turn, and take to the stairs two or three at a time.

Samantha sighed with vexation. 'Honestly, a little decorum wouldn't go amiss,' she commented waspishly, even as she set her empty glass on a side table so she could plunge her hands into her dress and hoick up her tits.

Thankfully, Daisy reappeared, quick as a flash, with her clutch, a soft grey woollen wrap, and new nose stud firmly affixed where nose studs are intended to be affixed. 'Can we go now, please?' she asked excitedly.

Oh, dear God, yes, Will thought in relief, but before he could say a word, Samantha's gin-laden voice rang out. 'Justh a moment, please!' she announced, hands on hips, swaying slightly.

Daisy deflated like a cheap air-bed. 'Mother,' she began wearily.

'I'm looking out for your reputashun, young lady!' Samantha snapped. Or tried to. 'You might think ish fine to go gadding about to awards sheremonies with two strange men, but people will talk!'

No prizes for guessing who will talk loudest and longest, Draco thought grimly.

'Mother, they're not strange' –

'Therefore,' Samantha carried on as if Daisy hadn't spoken, 'I inshist – yesh, I inshist! – that I accompany my dear daughter ash her shaperone.' Samantha nodded vehemently. One of her false eyelashes fell off.

Daisy turned so pale that Draco grasped her arm, convinced she was going to faint. And he didn't blame her one bit. Gods, _why_ did he leave his wand at home?

Because - he remembered - if he had it, he'd be too tempted to do something irreversible to this utterly odious woman. He tried to stop his wand hand from twitching.

Will, blessed Will, saved the evening. 'That's been taken care of, Mrs Dorchester,' he asserted, looking her in the eye. The one without eyelashes. 'My assistant is waiting in the limousine, and she will act as Miss Dorchester's chaperone.'

Draco blinked. Unless his assistant was a ghost, there definitely weren't no assistant in the limo.

'Oh.' This time, it was Samantha doing the deflating.

'Why don't you fix yourself a nice gin, love?' This time, Will spoke more kindly.

Samantha thought about it. 'Yeah,' she said thoughtfully. 'Soundsh good.'

She tottered off to the living room, and suddenly, the air was breathable again.

Draco proffered his elbow, and Daisy happily placed her hand on it. 'Do you want to say goodbye to your Dad?' Draco (as Draco) asked. 'He hasn't seen how lovely you look.'

Daisy looked sceptical, but nevertheless headed over to a closed door further down the hall and pounded on it. 'Dad!' she hollered. 'I'm off to the BAFTAs now!'

Draco's keen ears picked up the sounds of rustling from the other side of the door, including something that sounded suspiciously like the clink of a belt. The door unlocked, then opened a sliver, and Bill poked his flushed head out.

'Ah! Excellent! Well done! Well, have a good time, darling! Ta-ra!'

And with an emphatic click, the study door was closed, then locked; and the rustling sounds started up again.

Draco seethed in silence. He should have fucking known.

Daisy, however, was perfectly used to being marginalised by her family, and happily skipped to the front door.

'I'm calling Child Protective Services,' Will muttered as he and Draco followed. 'First thing tomorrow.'

* * *

Now, all that was needed was for the well-dressed trio to head down the driveway to the waiting limo. A miniscule task that should take mere moments to complete.

Therefore, Draco was considerably taken aback when, after Will opened the front door, they discovered the Dorchester's front garden to be absolutely jam-packed with people, all of whom started shouting and screaming and pointing and photo-taking the second Draco's tall blonde head hoved into view.

Oh, shit. Draco had almost forgotten about this species of humanity.

Fans.

Will assumed his professional smile and gestured for the pair to step ahead of him. 'Smile and wave, people,' he gritted between his smiling teeth. 'Smile, wave, walk to the limo and for the love of God, don't stop!'

Draco and Daisy's faces metamorphosed from 'stunned mullet' to 'professional model' and smiled and waved at the congregation of mad people. Draco duly smiled and waved at the crowd, nodding from time to time as the following slogans were thundered out:

'It's Troy, it's Troy! Omigod it's Troy!'

'I can't believe it, I'm gonna die, I swear to God!'

'Troy! You have the best arse in all of England!'

Well, he had to agree with that fan. She received an extra-special smile and wink for her trouble.

'TROY! I WANT TO HAVE YOUR BABIES!'

Oh, gods, her again! Hermione had better not hear about this. Or, Draco thought, his father.

Daisy, meanwhile, had truly gotten into the spirit of things and laughed at the whole ridiculousness of it all. 'This is so awesome!' she gushed into Draco's ear. 'It's fun being popular!'

Draco could concede that being popular felt good. He'd been popular ever since he was born. But this level of popular was sheer insanity!

Eventually, the smiling and waving trio made their way down the driveway, and the hired chauffeur (looking formidable in a dark liveried suit, hat and sunglasses - even though it was night-time) helped Daisy into the car, and glared (through the sunnies) with menace at the maddening crowd, daring them to take just ONE step closer, so help him, God.

Just as the chauffeur was checking that all of Daisy's chiffon had made it safely into the vehicle, a horrifying sound rent the evening air.

'OI! WHAT THE BLOODY 'ELL IS GOIN' ON 'ERE, THEN?'

Oh, crikey. The Dorchester matriarch had arisen.

'DAISY!' Samantha slurred from the doorway, which was also conveniently serving as her support mechanism. 'You're not leavin' without me, d'you hear?'

Wide-eyed and desperate, Daisy clutched the chauffeur's hand. 'Go!' she begged. 'Go, go, go!'

The chauffeur touched the brim of his cap. 'Ma'am,' he replied, slammed the limo door, hopped into the driver's seat and legged it.

* * *

 **A/N: It's still a comin,' folks! Thanks for hanging around!**


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N: A lot of this chapter is completely made up as I've never been famous or good enough at anything to attend any sort of prizegiving other than the ones the teachers make you go to at school. But some parts are accurate. You can guess which ones!**

 **This is Draco and Daisy's night – hope you enjoy it along with them.**

* * *

Draco and Daisy's limo careened through the streets of London at breakneck pace, a.k.a a crawl, which seemed perfectly normal to Daisy and Will. But Draco was rather unused to being moved without moving, so he was rather relieved when the limo screeched (gently glided) to a halt on Bow Street and idled behind a dozen other limos, lining up to despatch the richly famous and famously rich onto the long red carpet that led into the BAFTAs venue: the Royal Opera House.

Daisy's huge eyes got impossibly bigger as the limo inched down the street. There was so much to see! And she didn't want to miss a single bit of her fairy-tale evening. Nose pressed up against the window glass, she boggled at the hordes of onlookers lining the street, restrained only by flimsy temporary fencing and Police officers in fluorescent vests. Phones clicked and flashed like crazy as the lookie-loos wasted their batteries taking photos of uniform-looking limousines with tinted windows that gave away absolutely no clues as to the gorgeousness of the occupants contained therein. Except for the certainty that they were, of course, gorgeous.

'Cor,' Daisy breathed on the window, fogging it up as their vehicle drew close to dramatically-lit neoclassical Opera House with its elegant, imposing Doric columns and enormous BAFTA banners fluttering in the chill night breeze. At its feet lay what seemed like miles of slightly damp (it was lightly raining) red carpet, trodden on by thousands of celebrities and their entourages over the years – and in a minute, she'd be treading on it, too. Omigod!

With her clutch clutched, wrap wrapped around her shoulders and her hand on the door handle, she was nanoseconds away from rocketing out of the limo and onto the carpet – before a cough interrupted her whirling thoughts.

'Aren't you forgetting someone?' Will asked dryly.

'Oh!' Daisy turned around, looking for her escort. He was seated not too far away (obviously), but he was staring at his fingers and forming words with his lips. That is to say, he looked rather odd.

Cautiously, Daisy slid along the car seat and looked at his fingers. They seemed perfectly normal to her. 'Draco,' she whispered, dropping character for a moment. 'You all right?'

Draco took a deep breath and let it out. He and Hermione (well, Hermione) devised a method to help him remember all the Troy-related bumf he was supposed to remember tonight. Each finger represented a section of Troy's life, or work – past, present and future – his family, his mates, his dog's name, the media networks present tonight, the names of people at the BAFTAs he was supposed to know – and the names of people at the BAFTAs he was not supposed to know. It was a hell of a lot of information to retain.

He and Hermione eventually chunked it down to ten sections, with a finger or thumb dedicated to each one. There wasn't anything written on his fingers, as Daisy could attest – and, of course, magic was strictly forbidden tonight. He had to rely on good, old-fashioned moxie.

Draco was, by default, a confident and arrogant (albeit lovable) prat. He'd successfully bull-shitted his way through more than a few questionable situations at home, at school and with indignant girls who thought he was their boyfriend just because he slept with them. Honestly! He thought distractedly. When Draco Junior takes over the reins, Draco Senior can't be held responsible for whatever crap comes tumbling out of his mouth.

But impersonating a famous actor at a famous awards ceremony – a Muggle ceremony, to boot? He must be stark, raving, barking mad.

He clenched his fists and shuddered.

Oh, hell, Will thought, alarmed. He pulled his first aid kit out from an inside tux pocket – a hip flask filled to the brim with the strongest whisky Scotland could legally manufacture without turning drinkers blind.

Impulsively, Daisy put her arms around Draco's waist. 'You'll be all right,' she said encouragingly. 'You're a dead ringer for Troy. Will will always be nearby to help you, and I'll never leave your side! Unless you have to go to the Gents, of course. Or I have to go to the Ladies. I believe in you, Draco Malfoy.'

Draco looked at the earnest young lady sitting by his side. If she believed in him...

'Thanks, sweetheart,' he murmured, giving her a quick hug. He held out an arm to Will, who, rather than participate in a group hug, handed Draco the hip flask. He sniffed the contents appreciatively and took a healthy slug. It burned a most satisfactory trail to his gut.

He felt better.

'Are we ready, then?' Will asked with forced cheer.

'Yes, sir!' Daisy beamed.

'All right, then. Showtime in five seconds. No more Draco Malfoy, hello Troy Fendalton!' With that, Will rapped the window, and the chauffeur opened the door.

* * *

If Draco thought the din and clamour outside was loud while he was still inside the limo, it immediately ratchetted up to almost eardrum-shattering decibel levels when his blonde head exited the vehicle. Supressing his instinct to grab his absent wand and smite the evil, loathsome creatures that surely were responsible for this harpy-like hell, he grinned and waved at the heaving hordes of mostly female teenage girls who were screaming Troy's name at the top of their lungs. He turned back to the limo to help Daisy alight.

Daisy took a deep breath, smiled and stepped onto the red carpet at long last. Waving enthusiastically at everyone she could find, even the technical staff, she accepted Draco's proffered elbow as they began their promenade down the carpet.

'Sign some autographs,' muttered Will from just behind them.

Next to her, Daisy felt Draco's bicep tense. Poor thing, he must be so nervous. Fancy not remembering what an autograph is!

'Come on,' she smiled and steered Draco to the side of the carpet where some very patient fans, who'd been camped out since before dawn, went bananas at the sight of the object of their daily and nightly lust heading over.

A forest of hands clutching pens and paper were thrust at him, accompanied by a chorus of screaming 'omigods' and 'Troy, Troy, over here! TROY!' and 'I can't believe it's Troy omigod I'm gonna wet myself!' (there weren't any toilets nearby, unfortunately).

Daisy whispered that he had to sign his name on the scraps of paper. By which she meant Troy's name. Which led to Draco's first panic of night – he'd never seen Troy's signature before.

Oh, well. Going for broke, he took the first pen and paper, signed a large, dashing 'T' and followed it with a scribble of illegible letters. He ended with 'xx' and handed the paper back to its owner with smile and 'There you go, love.'

She promptly took one look at the signed paper and promptly screamed 'OMIGOD OMIGOD OMIGOD!' while jumping up and down like a kangaroo that was channelling a two-year-old child on an energetic tantrum. Her friends crowded around her, ogling the paper, touching the pen where Draco's fingers held it, and then joined in on the OMIGOD Kangaroo Dance.

Trying not to look alarmed at this most undignified display of Muggle custom, Draco glanced down at Daisy with a quirked eyebrow. She grinned back and gave him a thumbs-up.

Shrugging genially, he reached for the next bit of flapping paper, saying 'All right, love?' to its hysterical owner.

* * *

Next was posing for photographs in the media area, against a backdrop with the names of the ceremony's sponsors splattered across it. Daisy proudly posed with Draco, playing the adoring, wide-eyed fan to perfection, while Draco did his best to remember how Troy best liked to pose for still shots.

'How's single life treating you, Troy?' asked a reporter from one of the glossy gossip magazines.

Draco treated her to a knicker-dropping smile and said 'It's been a great time to step back and really think about my future path, career-wise and personally.'

'Are you looking for that special someone yet?'

Draco's lips curved into a most inappropriate smile, thinking of Hermione. 'Not really. But when she comes into my life, I'll know.'

A reporter from one of the newspapers called out to Daisy: 'Enjoying your evening, love?'

Daisy beamed and clasped her hands together. 'It's the best night of my entire life!'

The cynical, hackneyed journos laughed indulgently. 'Any messages for friends and family back home?' a TV reporter asked. 'Just speak into that camera over there.'

Squeezing Draco's hand before letting it go, Daisy skipped over to where the reporter showed her to stand and stared earnestly into the camera. 'Hermione, Mr and Mrs Granger, thank you so much for all your help in making tonight possible!' she beamed. 'And also Troy's agent for arranging it all. And to my fellow students at John Abernathy School for Girls, especially Felicity, Allegra and Margot, who thought I was lying when I said I was going to the BAFTAs with Troy Fendalton, you can all stick it up your' –

A hand lightly clamped over her mouth, and Draco's face appeared in the camera's vision. 'That's enough potty mouth from you, young lady,' he mock-chided, then he easily picked the surprised girl up and hoisted her over his shoulder.

'Sorry to leave, but we've places to be!' Draco called out cheerfully, and marched off into the Opera House amidst a chorus of hearty laughter and camera flashes, all capturing Daisy's wide-eyed expression, down to the perfectly-shaped 'O' of her surprised mouth.

Will, holding Daisy's clutch and wrap (not needed for photos) strolled behind, looking speculative.

* * *

Draco honestly thought Daisy's eyes couldn't get any bigger, but he was wrong.

Once they were inside the plush theatre and escorted to their near-stage seats by a deferential usher, she boggled at the expensive tote bags that were placed on their seats.

'SWAG!' she cried joyfully, to the amusement nearby actors who had teenagers of their own. Including the ones who hadn't officially acknowledged they had children of any age.

'All nominees receive a goodie bag from the sponsors,' Will murmured to Draco as they took their seats, watching Daisy, who'd already hauled the gifts out of the bag, laid them on her lap and was busy discussing one of the items with her neighbour, the nominee for Best Actress in a Supporting Role.

Draco peeked inside his own bag. In it, he discovered a miniature BAFTA trophy, a posh pen, bottles of champagne, wine and sparkling water, perfume, exquisite chocolates, expensive notepaper and some sort of odd gadget that did Merlin knew what, but it was named 'Nespresso.' It came with some little sealed capsule thingees that might as well be moon rocks for all the use they were to him.

Whatever. He'd take the bag home to Hermione and she could sort out what they could use and what they couldn't.

Stowing the bag under his seat, Draco recalled the last thing Will said. He leaned over to Will and whispered 'Er, nominee?'

Will's hands gripped the seat's armrests. 'You've been nominated for Best Supporting Actor in your last feature, _The Colour of His Coat_ ,' he hissed. 'The one where you played an assistant to a top British Intelligence investigator who was trying to expose the person who was supplying top secret information to the IRA, only it turned out it was you all along.'

Ah, right. Draco watched that movie, along with all the other productions Troy had a role in, with Hermione at the Grangers.' He wasn't overly impressed by it, to be honest, but Hermione and Jean were sniffling into their handkerchiefs at the end. His character was after revenge in retaliation for the death of his secret Irish lover, who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. All that info was on finger number 3.

'Got it,' Draco murmured. 'I'm not going to win, though, right?' he asked hopefully.

Will shrugged. 'You could. No-one knows who the winners are except the head honchos at the British Academy of Film and Television Arts. Plus the auditors backstage.'

Draco nodded sagely and sent up a silent prayer to Merlin. I know I've been a bad lad, he prayed, but do you think you could look the other way and let some other actor win tonight? I'd really appreciate it, ta.

* * *

Long, interminable hours later (or so it felt to Draco, who was certain his shapely golden arse had permanently flattened into a pancake) the nominees for Best Actor in a Supporting Role were read out by a luscious female celebrity whose breasts seemed to defy gravity.

'This is it!' Daisy whispered excitedly, who'd crossed all of her fingers and had appropriated Draco's nearest hand to cross all the fingers on his one.

Therefore, as the camera panned to 'Troy,' the audience laughed and cooed at the sight of Troy wincing as Daisy determinedly tried to macramé his digits with just her thumbs, since her own fingers were all crossed. She eyed up his other hand, so Draco surrendered to the inevitable and handed it over.

The audience hushed as the airy-breasted celebrity stepped to the side to let her male companion read out the winner's name.

'And the winner of the BAFTA for Best Actor in a Supporting Role is...' - he opened the envelope and fished the card out - ...'Troy Fendalton!'

The theatre burst into applause as the camera swooped back to Troy, looking genuinely shocked for a moment, then slightly ill, before recovering into a smile of bashful acknowledgement.

'Omigod omigod omigod omigod omigod omigod omigod you won! You won!' Daisy shrieked, pulling Draco to his feet, wrapping her arms around his waist and starting up the Kangaroo Fandango. Around them, people laughed at her infectious enthusiasm and women went 'Aww...' with their hands on their hearts, and wondered if they could convince their latest husband/lover/both to locate an undocumented immigrant to surrogate a baby girl for them who would grow into the beautiful young lady with the infectious laugh that was hugging Troy Fendalton so tight it was a miracle he hadn't run out of air.

'All right, Daisy,' Will grinned, ecstatic (Troy will be beating studio offers back with a stick after this!) 'let Troy go so he can collect his BAFTA.'

Oh, cripes, the bloody BAFTA, Draco thought. 'Can Daisy come with me?' he asked hopefully.

'YES!' from Daisy.

'NO!' from Will.

Sighing, Daisy flopped back into her seat and the world (or those who were watching) watched Troy head up to the stage, collect his trophy, shake hands with the male celeb and air-kiss the female celeb (he would have actually kissed her cheek, but her boobs were too large for him to get anywhere near her face).

All too soon, Draco found himself standing at a noise amplifier Hermione called a microfone, staring out at a sea of celebrities with arses perched on plush red seats, smiling so brightly they dazzled Draco's eyesight. All waiting for him to say something.

Finger number three, finger number three.

Oh, hell. He couldn't remember what was on finger number three!

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit...

He coughed lightly. 'Thank you all for the warm reception,' he began. 'Although I will understand if most of the applause was for my best fan and companion, Daisy, who's made this magical evening an experience I will never, ever forget.' He winked at Daisy, who sighed with dramatic happiness and collapsed back onto her seat. The audience laughed again.

'I know it's customary to thank my co-stars, cast and crew who worked on this extraordinary film' – here he paused, and bit his lip pensively – 'and while I am forever grateful to them, I'd like to take a moment instead to remember all the men, women and children who were killed, or lost family members, to a terrible, violent conflict we euphemistically refer to as The Troubles.'

The audience was silent. Cameras zoomed in on glittering celebs looking solemn and nodding sadly.

' _The Colour of his Coat_ only featured a tiny sector of an unspeakable conflict that practically happened on our doorstep, but in years to come, I hope it will help future generations understand what it was like to live through war when, hopefully, all they will ever know is peace. Thank you.'

Draco briefly acknowledged the wildly-clapping audience and strode off the stage, too caught up in silently thanking Andrew Granger and what he told Draco about his recollection of that time to see celebs standing up in ovation _en masse_.

There was barely a dry eye in the house. Aside from the ladies who just had full face-lifts. But they were crying inside, honestly.

* * *

Much to Draco's well-hidden chagrin, the end of the ceremony did not mean the end of the evening. As an awards winner, he had to be 'seen' at one of the major sponsors' after parties.

Thankfully, because of Daisy, they wouldn't stay too long, since she had to go home at a reasonable hour.

'That's not fair!' Daisy sulked. But not for long. For once more, she was transported to another magical world where the best and brightest and famous and hippest and richest hob-nobbed shoulder to shoulder with each other, pretending to eat tiny slivers of food and enthusiastically quaffing quantities of champagne or the sponsor's product, which happened to be a high-end vodka.

At the venue's glitzy central bar, Daisy gaped at the dizzying range of vodka-related alcoholic drinks on display before a bartender asked her what'll it be.

Will opened his mouth to instruct the bartender to get Daisy a lemonade, but Daisy was quicker. 'A cosmopolitan, please!' she said brightly.

'Wait!' Will gasped before the bartender dashed off. Turning to Daisy, he lectured 'Young lady, you are not of legal drinking age. And I will be damned if I'll be responsible for photos of you splashed across tomorrow's tabloids, absolutely legless.'

Daisy conjured up her best pout, but to no avail. She turned to the bartender. 'Can you make a cosmopolitan that tastes the same without the alcohol?' she asked hopefully.

'Nah, love, sorry.'

'Just the lemonade please,' Will said firmly.

'Can I have a glass of champagne instead?'

Will sighed. 'No.'

'What about half a glass, then? And I'll promise to stick to lemonade for the rest of the night without complaining?'

Lord preserve me, Will wailed to himself. 'All right. Half a glass. And not a drop more.'

He watched the smiling bartender fill half a glass of champers for Daisy. Teenage girls are not to be trifled with, he thought in awe.

* * *

Sitting at a small table with their food and nibbles, Draco pleasantly greeted all the right people who passed by in a steady stream, helped along by Daisy who, from time to time, would stare at the visitor in awe and say to Draco 'Omigod, it's so-and-so, who starred with you [insert movie name here]!'

Draco was seriously considering adopting her.

A middle-aged couple who were sitting across the tiny table looked and Draco and Daisy indulgently. Eventually, the lady leaned over and said to Daisy in an American accent 'I love your hair, darling. Who styled it?'

Daisy glanced at her pinky-blonde locks and shrugged. 'Well, I did, mostly.'

'And such a lovely necklace, too!' she marvelled.

Daisy grinned and hugged Draco. 'That was from Troy,' she said.

The lady's delicate eyebrow raised. 'He gave you a plat' – but she finished her sentence on a cough after Troy looked alarmed and drew a finger hurriedly across his neck, out of Daisy's view.

Daisy looked concerned. 'Are you all right, miss?' she asked. 'Would you like some water?'

After the lady demurred, the man said 'We were wondering, my dear, if you had any acting experience?'

'Well,' she shrugged, the same time as Draco and Will both said 'Yes!' quite emphatically.

'Do you have an agent?' the man asked.

Will procured a business card out of nowhere and smoothly handed it to the gentleman. 'I'm responsible for this young lady,' he said with an emphatic nod. Since it wasn't really a lie.

Both Draco and Daisy watched this exchange with wide eyes.

'Ah! Excellent,' said the gentleman. 'My business partner and I' – he indicated the lady sitting next to him – 'are looking to produce a period feature TV series about an independent young lady who finds the customs of the day too restricting, and longs for adventure. And we both thought that young Daisy here looks exactly like the type of girl we're looking to cast in the lead role.'

For once, Daisy was too shocked to omigod.

'Sounds very interesting,' Will mused, morphing into business mode. 'Does that sound interesting, Daisy?'

Silent Daisy could only nod, her eyes like saucers.

'Excellent,' Will smiled, and settled down to talk turkey on behalf of his newest client.

* * *

Leaving Daisy safely under Will's supervision (his newest source of income MUST be protected at all costs), Draco stretched and headed off to the Gents, thankfully only having to stop a couple of times to briefly chit-chat with some of Troy's co-stars.

Once relieved, he exited the conveniences but in his weary state, got his lefts and rights mixed up and eventually found himself in an anonymous-looking corridor. No traffic in sight, but down the end, he could hear the chatter and clanging and hissing that went with a busy commercial kitchen.

Wrong way, dumbass, he grizzled to himself, sighed, spun around and –

\- walked smack into another person. Who he swore wasn't there a second ago.

Stepping back and murmuring his apologies, he made to step around the lady, but she put a restraining hand on his arm.

'Troy,' she purred, looking up at him from under her enormously long fake eyelashes, 'surely you weren't going to run away without saying hello to me?' She lifted her head up to him, glossy bubble lips pursed for a kiss.

Draco blinked, and quickly skimmed over the woman's features. Posh voice, long, straight blonde hair, eyes so violet they must be fake somehow, lips that looked pumped so full of gods-knows-what it looked like a baboon's arse, svelte figure, round, perky bum and large breasts, all poured into a slinky black sequinned dress that proudly advertised each and every feature.

Oh, hell, Draco groaned to himself. Merlin, if I ever find you in the next world, I'm gonna kill you!

It was Sage Gibbs-Everett, famous Brit movie star. Finger number eight.

And Troy's ex.

* * *

 **A/N: Will Draco be tested? Will Draco pass the test? Will Daisy be the next Oscar-winning British export to take Hollywood by storm? Stay tuned for another chapter of this soap opera I fondly call 'Treacherous Affairs Part Two.'**


	38. Chapter 38

Draco willed his body not to break out into a sweat. If there was anyone Will expressly told him to avoid like the plague tonight, it was Sage Gibbs-Everett. She might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she'd be able to tell the difference between her ex-boyfriend and a complete stranger. Wouldn't she?

Although apparently, not so far.

Her eyes were closed and her trout pout was pointed upwards for a kiss, so Draco, praying that Hermione won't find out, applied a gentle, tentative kiss to Sage's lips. He didn't want to apply too much pressure – they could explode, for all he knew.

'Oh, darling,' she laughed. 'What sort of kiss was that?'

'That was a kiss from your ex,' Draco said firmly. 'Who's quite happy to keep things that way.'

Sage pouted, then drew a long, taloned finger up his tuxedo jacket. 'Congratulations on your win,' she purred. 'Hollywood will be filling your phone up with calls now! We might end up working on a project together. Wouldn't that be fun?'

Her smile reminded Draco of a shark.

On finger number eight lay the knowledge that Sage was a power-hungry, money-chasing strumpet who thought nothing of attaching herself, limpet-like, to young and sexy up-and-comers, only to leave them for any A-lister who glanced her way. Her temper tantrum over Troy being seen with Hermione was the charade she needed to get out of lumbering under Troy's so-so star status (Hollywood-wise) and hook up with an ageing mega-star who spent more time behind the camera than in front of it. And who'd promised to cast her in his next blockbuster.

Shame the sex was so revolting.

Draco couldn't come up with a flattering rejection, so he just went for a bald 'No.'

Sage laughed again, this time grabbing his hand. 'Come back with me,' she begged. 'I'm gasping for another drink. We can talk.'

And before he knew what was happening, he was being forcibly dragged down the hallway, heading the right way towards the party.

* * *

Shit! Draco groaned to himself. Will's going to slaughter me if I turn up with this leech! Think, man, think!

They capered past the toilets, and inspiration struck. Draco dug in his heels.

'Wait!' he hissed to Sage. 'I need to go to the toilet.'

If he'd expected Sage to let his hand go so that he could pretend to avail himself of the facilities in private, he was dead wrong.

Her eyes lit up with naughty delight. 'What an excellent idea!' she beamed, propelling Draco backwards until he barrelled through the door and into an empty cubicle.

Well, Draco thought. I seem to be in a bit of a pickle.

* * *

Sage advanced upon Draco hungrily (not that there was much space for advancing). 'I've missed you, you know,' she said prettily. She looked up and winked. 'Especially one part of you...'

And before Draco could blink, her clawed and ringed fingers gripped his penis through his trousers.

He staggered back and landed on top of the closed toilet seat. 'Hey!' he snapped angrily. 'You don't get to paw me through my clothes! We're done! We're through!'

But Sage wasn't listening. Instead, she was staring at Draco's crotch, her unfurrow-less forehead furrowed in confusion. Then she looked up at his face, and the confusion turned to shock.

''Oo the fuck are _you,_ then?' she squawked in her default Cockney tones.

Oh, hell...

'I should have thought that was obvious,' Draco replied in a bored voice, brazening it out.

'Yer not Troy!' Sage snapped. 'Troy dresses to the right, not the left, and his cock is nowhere near as big as yours! And his is a pretty decent size, if I may say so. Therefore, who the bloody hell are ya, then?'

Gee thanks, Draco Junior.

Draco Senior sighed and leaned back against the wall. 'His body double,' he muttered.

'Why ain't he here, then? What's wrong wiv 'im?' she cried.

'He's in quarantine in some country or another, where he's filming,' Draco replied. 'Seemed fine enough to me when we spoke on the phone.'

Sage sighed in relief. 'Well, all right, then! But why the bloody charade with you running around posing as Troy?'

Draco closed his eyes. Gods, he was tired of this. 'I've no idea, love,' he sighed. 'I'm just the body double.'

'Hmmm...'

Draco cranked an eye open. That didn't sound good.

Indeed, Sage was inspecting every inch of his face and head, lifting up his chin and running his hair through her fingers. 'You're exactly like him,' she breathed. Then she smirked. 'Except where it matters.'

'Sage, look' –

Suddenly, she snapped her fingers and her eyes went wide with recognition. 'You're the bloke who was photographed kissing that short girl with the curly hair at the train station a few months ago!'

'Guilty as charged. Now, can we' –

'I dumped Troy because I thought you was 'im!' Best not mention it was a handy excuse to hare off with Mr A-Lister, him with the saggy scrotum.

'Well, we all make mistakes. Sage, I need to get back to my date' –

'Oh, no, mister. You're not going anywhere.' Sage crossed her arms and assumed an expression on her face that could be best described as 'pre-slaughter.'

Draco gulped. He was trapped in a toilet cubicle with a nutter.

He prayed for other men to enter the bathroom, but for some irritating reason, their collective bladders didn't seem to be at full capacity at the moment.

'All right,' Draco said cautiously. 'Humour me, if you will. Why can't I leave?'

'Because,' Sage replied, 'we have a little business to finish, first.'

'What sort of business, exactly?' Will these be my famous last words? Draco wondered.

'Oh, darling,' Sage laughed. 'Like you even have to guess!'

A shellacked finger pointed at his pants zipper.

Draco intercepted her wrist before the finger could do any damage. He gave her the Malfoy Look and spat 'No way in hell, lady.'

However, Sage had learned a thing or in Hollywood, and one of those things was how to develop a hide like a rhinoceros. The Look bounced off her with inflecting even the tiniest of dents on her confidence.

'Now, I need a little more enthusiasm, whoever-the-hell-you are,' she snapped. 'Otherwise I'm heading straight back to the party, and I'm telling everyone there about the stunt you and your hairy manager pulled on the BAFTAs.'

Blackmail? Draco Lucius Malfoy was BEING blackmailed? He was momentarily stunned.

She took the opportunity and pounced on him– lips to lips, and crotch to crotch.

* * *

Yes, things were looking rather bad.

But as we know, Malfoys thrive on pressure. Produce some of their best work, even.

And Draco has never been known to disappoint a lady.

After an initial struggle, he relaxed his body and kissed her bizarre balloon lips hungrily, eagerly seeking out her tongue. He wound his fingers through her hair, tilting her face, and Draco Junior, always up for action if something was grinding against it, swelled and hardened.

'Gods, you're beautiful,' Draco muttered hungrily around her mouth. She moaned in heated need. 'Tell me you're not wearing anything under that dress.'

Sage giggled. 'I like a man who gets straight to the point,' she purred. She hoicked up the slit of her gown and proudly showed Draco her tanned, hairless pussy.

'I need to fuck that,' Draco whispered, mesmerised. 'Release me.'

All pointy-nailed fingers and thumbs, Sage located his zipper and wrenched it down, then fished around inside his undies and pulled out his erection.

'Bloody 'ell!' she gasped in awe, wrapping her hand around its girth –

Then –

 _'Obliviate!'_ Draco hissed, praying like crazy that the spell would work without a wand.

* * *

Sage sagged against Draco, her mouth open in a perfect 'O' and her hand still wrapped around his cock. He executed a more simple, wandless spell to put her to a gentle sleep, and another to lock the bathroom door. Then he arranged the sleeping Sage on the toilet, her head propped up against one of the cubicle walls, stuffed his cock back into his pants and _scourgified_ himself until he felt a modicum of cleanliness again.

Closing, but not locking the stall, he washed his hands, dried them and stared at his reflection in the mirror, breathing hard.

He opened the bathroom door. The Malfoy luck still held – no-one was there.

He skedaddled back to the party.

* * *

 **Later**

 **Back home**

'You did what?' Hermione gasped at Draco's back. He was lying face-down on their bed, absolutely and completely done in.

When he finally staggered home through the Floo from the Grangers, he dragged his weary body through the flat to the bedroom, falling straight on top of the bed and giving Hermione, who was asleep, a hell of a fright.

When she asked him whether he was okay, she received a few more frights.

Such as: Draco using the _oblivation_ spell on a Muggle.

Draco using wandless magic to perform the _oblivation_ spell.

Draco violating the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy by performing magic in a Muggle environment.

But worst of all, Draco kissing Troy's ex-girlfriend! and not only that, letting her handle his cock! And not only _that_ , getting up close and personal to that – that _bitch's_ pussy!

Hermione had no idea what to start yelling about first.

* * *

After a long five minutes, in which Hermione ranted without seeming to pause for breath, Draco dragged himself upright, and faced her. In the light of her _Lumos,_ he looked wrecked and wretched.

'I had no choice,' he croaked. 'She was blackmailing me. Troy and Will would have gotten into piles of trouble over the BAFTA deception. Modifying her memories was the least shitty way of extricating myself from a shitty situation.'

'But you used unauthorised magic!' Hermione reminded him, not-so-helpfully. 'You could get into massive trouble for that! Not to mention that we don't know whether the spell was successful, or if you've given her brain damage!'

Draco rounded on her, seething.

'Do you think I don't know that?' he spat. 'Do you think I feel happy about any of this?'

'No,' Hermione shot back.

'Ever since I've been with you, it's impossible for me to do anything remotely similar to the shit I pulled beforehand! If I think about pulling a prank, or doing something left of legal, just to see if I can get away with it, I get this horrible, churning feeling in my stomach! It's revolting! And do you know why that is, hmm?'

Hermione, now rather intimidated by the angry young man on their bed, shook her head.

'Because the last thing I want is to make you disappointed in me!' he yelled. 'The last thing I want is you being disappointed, or disgusted, leading to you packing your bags and leaving me! Gods! I felt sick when that that woman touched me! When I kissed her! Knowing I'd have to tell you, because there's no way I'd keep something like this hidden from you! Knowing how 'disappointed' you'd be with me!'

He jumped off the bed and stalked to the wardrobe, ripping off his tuxedo. 'I was fucked, no matter what I did,' he spat. 'But I'd hoped that you'd try to understand, at least.'

Nude, he glared at her, still sitting on the bed. 'I'm going to have a shower,' he snarled. 'Then I'll sleep on the couch.'

He left the bedroom, leaving a shell-shocked Hermione behind.

* * *

In the bathroom, Draco wrenched the taps on and stood, uncaring, under the freezing cold spray. Focussing on the incremental changes to the water's temperature. Breathing in. Breathing out.

He wished to Merlin he told Troy to get stuffed when he phoned with his crackpot idea.

But he hadn't. And now he had to reap the consequences.

And now Hermione was sore at him for trying his best.

Fuck.

Two small hands circled around him, reaching his waist.

He looked at them, unmoving, but eventually he sighed and turned around.

Hermione stood nude under the water, her hair flattened to her head. The water spray brushed over her face, but they didn't disguise that fact that she was crying.

Oh, wonderful. Now Draco felt like one hundred different types of shit. He didn't need this now.

'Hermione' –

'I'm sorry!' she blurted. 'You faced some really difficult decisions, and you performed admirably in very trying circumstances. I shouldn't have berated you. I should have supported you. Like you do for me. Every single day.'

Her voice cracked, and she broke their gaze, staring now at the water swirling around their feet.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered to the water.

Draco didn't move. He was exhausted, and all this emotion was too much to bear. He closed his eyes and let his body decide what to do.

It decided to pull Hermione tight and wrap his arms around her.

Hermione placed her hands on his back and hugged him hard.

They stayed that way until the water turned cold again.


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N: Plot and lemon time! Not to be confused with lemon thyme. Ahem.**

 **Warning: very rough non-Dramione sex, but it's consensual. Different horses for different courses, as they say.**

* * *

 **A week or so later**

Exams were over for the term, and our three flatmates were waiting – either anxiously, or not very – for their results and confirmation of the venues that would host them for their practical terms. Their apprenticeships, as it were.

Draco, Blaise and Hermione were having a leisurely breakfast – with Draco providing the entertainment in the form of reading out ridiculous titbits from _The Daily Prophet_ – when three owls announced their arrival by trying to shove themselves through the French doors at the same time in a manner the Three Stooges would be proud of.

Blaise pulled himself up from his chair and headed over to sort them out, only to be pipped at the post by a grim-faced Hermione, who jabbed him none-too-gently in the ribs as she passed.

Draco snorted at the expression on Blaise's face.

'Never get between Hermione and an exam result, mate,' he advised. 'You'll end up with missing limbs.'

Ignoring him, Hermione handed the boys their letters and flung herself back into her chair. She tore her letter open with little style and no finesse and quickly scanned the first page before heaving a sigh of relief and clutching the letter to her chest.

'Yes!' she crowed in triumph.

Draco poured her a cup of congratulatory coffee. 'First in class?'

'Yup,' she replied smugly.

'Congratulations!' Blaise said warmly.

Draco peered over her shoulder. 'Only by one mark,' he pointed out.

Hermione gripped the front of his shirt and yanked him close. 'It still counts!' she snarled into his face.

Draco swallowed. 'Of course it does, sweetheart, and very well-deserved!' he stammered while Blaise hooted with laughter.

'Hmph.' Hermione released his shirt.

Draco found his way back to his seat. 'So Blaise,' he said, sailing for calmer waters, 'have they sorted you out a law firm for you to apprentice at?'

'Yep,' Blaise replied, scanning the second page of his letter. 'In Hogsmeade with Pruitt, Silvertongue and Dreadnaught.'

Draco whistled. 'Swanky!' To Hermione, he added 'That's the firm my family uses. Very exclusive.'

'Excellent!' Blaise smirked. 'I look forward to unearthing as many Malfoy skeletons from their closets as possible.'

Draco gave Blaise the finger while sipping his coffee. 'At least we'll all three be close together, what with you in Hogsmeade and me and Hermione in Hogwarts, eh love?'

No reply.

Draco peered at Hermione. She was still staring at the second page of her letter.

He frowned. 'Is something wrong?'

Hermione let her letter flutter to the table. 'I'm not apprenticing at Hogwarts,' she mumbled.

'Huh?'

'I'm going to St Mungo's.'

* * *

Hermione had just stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around herself when there was a knock at the door.

'Come in!' she called.

Draco opened the door a tad and eased in, the _Prophet_ under one arm. 'How did you know I wasn't Blaise?' he asked curiously.

'Blaise doesn't knock; he just barges in.'

Draco's face turned puce.

'I'm kidding, Draco! Just kidding.' Then she sighed. 'I'm sorry about not going to Hogwarts,' she said sincerely, giving him a hug. 'But the opportunities at St Mungo's will be endless compared to the lumps and bumps and dragon pox that present to Madam Pomfrey most days.'

'I know, love.' Draco kissed her forehead. 'And it won't be forever. Before we know it, we'll be back here, tackling Year Two.'

'That's the spirit!' Hermione smiled, but it faltered when she saw his serious expression.

'Draco? What's wrong?'

He pulled out the _Prophet_ and opened it to the _Announcements_ page.

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

'Malfoys need to keep up with what's what in society,' he sniffed.

She had a feeling he wasn't joking.

Anyway...

'Take a look at this,' Draco said heavily, pointing to an announcement in the _Engagements_ section.

Hoping it wasn't something bad to do with Lavender and Theo's wedding, she quickly scanned the text.

And then felt much, much worse.

 _Signor and Signora Tomaso Rossi of Lucca are pleased to announce the engagement of their daughter Giorgia to Signor Giuseppe Lombardi of Pisa..._

Hermione's bloodless fingers dropped the paper. 'Jesus wept,' she whispered. Then she looked up. 'Does Blaise know yet?'

'Not yet. I have no idea how to break it to him.'

She took his hand. 'Do you want me to do it?' she asked sympathetically.

He recalled her bedside manner moment when telling Blaise about Giorgia's withdrawal from university... and the hole he punched in the wall afterwards.

'How about we immobilise him first, and then tell him the news?'

Hermione was about to hotly refute his barbaric suggestion... when she remembered the hole Blaise punched in the wall.

'Worth a try.'

* * *

 **Southern Carpathians, Romania**

 **Dingy Muggle motel unit behind the pub**

Pansy Parkinson may be _persona non grata_ at Hogwarts, but she was related to one of the school's board members, a doddery old fool who acted forty years younger than his age and was rather susceptible to handing the odd piece of information about the school over to an alabaster-skinned miss with long legs, short skirts and cleavage you could easily get lost in.

Ron Weasley sat by one of the room's open windows, smoking and biding his time, waiting for Pansy to arrive.

He was slowly learning how patience could be a virtue.

And arrive she did. Late, naturally; and unapologetic, naturally.

'It's confirmed!' she cackled, breezing through the door in a grey wool long-sleeved wrap dress and thigh-high black boots underneath her winter woolies. She tossed a letter onto Ron's denim lap while she shed her coat, hat, gloves and scarf.

He cast an eye over the letter. 'So, Malfoy's going back to Hogwarts,' he muttered. He took his cigarette and burned a hole where Draco's name was written. 'And I'm still stuck in this gods-forsaken dump,' he sulked.

Pansy ignored the sulk, but figured she'd try giving positive feedback a go for once, and see if the hype about it was true.

'You're doing well up at the Sanctuary,' she said. 'Igor says Charlie's really impressed with the hard work you're putting in, and how helpful and cheerful you are.'

Ron furrowed his brow. 'How do you get any information out of that walking sack of concrete?' he asked.

'Sacks of concrete get hard, from time to time.'

Ron was secretly impressed. Igor would have been a tough nut to crack. Or fellate. Or fuck.

Pansy smiled smugly. 'It's been a long waiting game, but the pieces are starting to fall into place. Soon we'll have everyone right where we want them.'

Ron pictured it in his head. He wanted to avenge himself against Malfoy so much that he got a boner just thinking about it...

He glanced at Pansy, who was sitting on the sagging bed, swinging her legs back and forth.

'Remove your clothes,' he growled.

* * *

Shivering in anticipation, Pansy stood up, faced him, and undid the belt to her wrap dress. Pulling it free, she shrugged the material from her arms and let it pool on the lurid brown and orange carpet. She was nude underneath.

Ron flicked his cigarette butt outside and closed the window.

Pansy started to unzip a boot, but Ron's guttural command made her stop. She straightened up, almost salivating at the thought of Ron's pierced cock under those worn jeans.

'Crawl.'

He treated her as a sub to punish her, she knew. Despite their mutal love of revenge against certain persons, she knew he still resented her for being such a bitch at school to him. But she let him do it, because he was stronger than her. And not averse to showing her his strength if she stepped out of line.

But she also let him do it because she loved it - perverted, complicated headcase that she was.

She sank to her knees and crawled to him, her hips swaying seductively. Once there, she kneeled at his feet and wet her lips at the sight of his engorged and straining cock with its shiny barbell, sticking out of his jeans.

She clasped her hands behind her back, and waited for his words.

'Suck it, bitch.'

Lust poured through her body, and she leaned over his member. Spitting on the end, she opened her mouth wide and impaled herself on his cock, her red lipstick smearing his shaft as she worked more and more of his flesh into her mouth. Saliva dripped from her lips as she strained to please him.

'Not good enough,' he spat. He grabbed the back of her head and snarled 'Am I going to have to show you again, you stupid bitch?'

Pansy's clitoris throbbed. The top of her thighs were wet. She nodded, gasping for air.

She relaxed her mouth and throat just in the nick of time as Ron forced her head back down his cock so her lips were tickled by the ginger hair on his abdomen. Back and forth he pushed and pulled her head up and down his wet shaft, grunting 'See, bitch? This is how you do it! Fuck, yes...'

Pansy thrilled to every hurtful word, every rough touch.

He stood up and planted his feet on the floor. He vigorously flexed his hips and jammed his cock even further inside her, keeping her head still.

'Women like you are only good for eating my come!' he spat, picking up the pace.

Pansy tried hard to take him, but her gag reflex had had enough. Her lungs heaved for the want of oxygen, and to her shame, she slapped his leg three times.

 _Enough._

Each time they fucked, Pansy wondered if this would be the time when he would ignore her safe signal and half-kill her, but to Ron's credit, he didn't.

Pulling his cock out of her throat, he leered at the lipstick stains on it and shoved her to the ground onto her hands and knees.

Kneeling behind her, he slammed his throbbing cock into her juicy cunt. She wailed in desire, already pushing her arse back against his rough thrusts.

Ron smirked as he fucked her body. 'Fucking whore!' he grudgingly marvelled between thrusts. 'Bet I could take your dirty arse just as it is, with only your juices to lube me.'

'Yes, do it!' Pansy moaned, halfway to her orgasm already. Dear gods, that barbell did things to her body she'd never known were possible.

Ron pulled his cock out of her pussy, practically dripping. Spreading her arse apart with his thumbs, he lined his cock up to her entrance – and impaled her on his stone-hard shaft.

'Fuck! Yes yes yes yes!' Pansy screamed, lowering her upper body to the ground, giving Ron more room to lunge forcefully.

Ron watched his cock appear and disappear through her incredibly tight flesh. It was almost hypnotic. His balls tingled, and he sped up, uncaring whether Pansy was ready or not.

'Bitch! Slut! Whore!' he spat at her, gripping her hips hard as his thrusts began to falter in steadiness.

'Gods, yes!' Pansy moaned, rubbing her clitoris hard with her head resting on the dubious carpet.

'You fucking love it, don't you?' Ron laughed unexpectedly.

 _Only with you, surprisingly._

'Your slut! Your whore!' Pansy moaned, welcoming that often-elusive sensation of her body starting to fizz, waiting for ignition.

'That's fucking right!' Ron roared as he came, over and over, inside her arse.

Pansy's entire body shimmered and she wailed as her orgasm overcame her. Come pulsed from her empty pussy and joined whatever other revolting organisms were germinating on the carpet.

Breathing hard, Ron withdrew his cock and, as he stood, collected up a shaking Pansy in his arms and headed to the bed. He laid her down and cast _Scourgifying_ charms over them both.

They both stared up at the fly-spotted ceiling in silence.

Eventually...

'Pansy?'

'Yeah?'

'When it comes to sex, I truly believe you have a couple of screws loose,' Ron said in a voice devoid of inflection or tone.

She turned her head, watching a dragon slither its way around Ron's muscular bicep.

'Yeah. I know.'


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N: We've reached some milestones, readers! We're at chapter 40, which definitely makes this story the longest and most complex fanfiction I've ever attempted. But even better, we've passed 2,000 reviews! Amazing! Thank you all so much for reading and staying tuned.**

 **I've also updated and improved Treacherous Affairs the Original in anticipation of a book club happening later this year. BTW: I took out one of the Drinny scenes. Yippee! So if you're in the mood for some nostalgia, check it out!**

 **Recently I've been grateful for having TA2 to work on. A close friend died over Christmas, and it's been good to have this project to keep me focused when things started looking bleak and pointless and overwhelming. He was so pleased about the fun I've been having writing fanfiction and the name I'm slowly making for myself as a writer. And he thought you all have excellent taste in choosing to read my works ;)**

 **Chapter 40 is a shorty (see what I did there?) but it's Dramione-lemony!**

* * *

As it turned out, Draco immobilised the wrong person.

* * *

Certainly, Blaise took the news very calmly after Draco sneakily ensnared him in a _Petrificus Totalus_ while he was sitting on the settee and minding his own business. Of course, given his state of immobility, this was to be expected.

Still, it's remarkable how much one can communicate with one's eyes.

To Blaise's exemplary credit, after Draco warily released the spell, he remained on the settee, only leaning forward to hang his forearms, then his head, between his legs. He stayed that way for some time.

Finally, he came up for air.

'Okay,' he said slowly. 'Okay.' Then he got up and shuffled off to his bedroom.

Draco and Hermione looked blankly at each other, then at Blaise's retreating back. 'Um, what are you going to do?' Draco asked.

Blaise turned and looked him square in the eye.

'I'm going back to Italy. Then I'll find Gia, get to the bottom of this bullshit and ask her to marry me instead of that _stronzo.'*_

The he ambled off to his room.

Draco and Hermione stood there, taking it all in. Then Hermione's face drained of colour. She emitted a blood-curdling shriek and sped off like the demented Valkyrie she sometimes resembled down the hall and into Blaise's bedroom before Draco could even blink.

Recovering his faculties, he set off in pursuit.

What he discovered in Blaise's bedroom was something he knew he'd never forget – not even if he lived to be five hundred.

* * *

Hermione was riding Blaise like a mechanical bull (Draco saw one in a Muggle pub and wanted to try it out, but Hermione made him see reason). Her arms were locked around poor Blaise's neck, putting plenty of pressure on his windpipe, shrieking 'You will NOT throw away your education, Blaise Zabini!' over and over. Her hair was wild. Her eyes were wild. Even her fingertips and bare toes looked wild.

Blaise was already down on one knee, gasping like an emphysemic fish who's discovered he's run out of wet, watery stuff to frolic in. He tried to prise Hermione's arms away from his throat, but wasn't having much success.

He spied Draco boggling from his bedroom door and wheezed 'Gedderoffmeee!' backing his statement up with bugging-out eyes.

Draco approached with caution, assessing the best way to subdue Hermione and relieve Blaise of his burden without putting his own manhood at risk.

''Urryupfuckssake!' Blaise mouthed.

Draco sighed. Estimating that this was going to cost him at least two weeks of sex, he raised his wand at his girlfriend. It shook slightly.

' _Immobulus!'_

Instantly, Hermione's body floated in mid-air. Blaise unhooked her arms from his throat and crawled away to safety, wheezing like a dusty old bellows with a big hole in the side.

'You okay?' Draco asked.

Blaise massaged his throat and glared at Floating Hermione. He may have mouthed the words 'Fucking madwoman!' but Draco was prepared to let it go. This time.

He fixed a 'You Know I Only Did This for The Sake of Health and Safety' look on his face as he turned to Hermione. Naturally, she still had the same enraged expression that she used on Blaise, but Draco was fairly willing to bet that it was now one hundred percent directed at him.

'Now, my dear,' Draco began, having no idea how much he sounded like Lucius at his most condescending, 'when I release the spell, I don't want to see you throttling Blaise for making his own decisions.' He thought, and added 'Or throttling me for pointing my wand at you.'

Hermione glowered at him from above.

'I will take your silence to mean assent. Get ready, love.' Draco raised his wand again and released the spell, skilfully bringing her down to earth with the gentlest of bumps.

In control of her body again, Hermione planted both feet on the ground and shook her head vigorously, clearing it of vestigial vertigo. Once she was sure-footed again, she raised her head, glared through her dishevelled curls at Draco, and ran towards him with a ferocious and outrageous roar of rage.

Draco deftly picked her up around her waist, nimbly avoiding her pummelling fists and feet and headed to the hallway. 'You owe me, Zabini!' he called over his shoulder as he carted his furious girlfriend off to their bedroom.

Blaise stared after the crazy couple.

It's time to quit this madhouse, he thought.

* * *

Blaise crammed everything he owned into his trunk and shrunk it. He'd owled ahead to the Ministry of Magic to sort out his Portkey to Rome. Emergency, he wrote. Critical family matter. He was also prepared to shove fistfuls of Galleons at the right employee, if that would have been any help – the English Ministry was notoriously un-corrupt. It was so much easier dealing with the Italians.

He headed down the hall to Draco and Hermione's bedroom. It would be rude to leave without saying goodbye, after all.

He approached the door and rapped on it softly before turning the handle and poking his head through.

Oh, dear gods.

Draco and Hermione made a pretty tableau, with him standing by their window and Hermione's bottom perched on the sash. If they were clothed, the closeness of their bodies would have made for a lovely romantic scene.

Except, of course, both were as naked as the day they were born.

Hermione's hands clutched the sash, her head thrown back in abandon, curls tumbling down her naked back. One slim ankle rested on Draco's shoulder while the other dangled above the floor. She welcomed Draco's deep, penetrating thrusts into her glistening core. Blaise heard the slick, wet movements from the doorway.

Draco fucked Hermione hard and deep, one hand tethering her raised ankle, the other braced on the window frame. His blonde head was lowered, his tongue and lips tugging tightly on her nipples. Hermione's broken voice raised itself to the heavens, gasping 'more!' 'harder!' and 'fuck!' in broken tones. Sweat glistened on her body, as it did on Draco's.

'Drake – oh God, please don't stop please please please GOD!' These words, and similar incoherent ones, fell from Hermione's lips.

Oh, shit.

Of course they were having sex!

Blaise wasn't prepared to hang around for the Happy Ending. So he just thrust a 'thumbs up' through the gap in the door.

Without breaking stride, Draco returned the sign to Blaise, drumming his cock into Hermione with speed.

Blaise rolled his eyes and headed to the Floo, now sporting an unfortunate erection.

'Oh fuck oh fuck no no no omigod DRACO!' Hermione wailed, her entire body shaking as she came, her body shuddering around his.

Draco joined her with an inarticulate oath of his own, his eyes rolling back in his head with the sheer bliss of the orgasm coursing through his body.

* * *

 **A short while later**

'Draco...?'

'Gods, I love make-up sex. Don't you?'

'It has it merits...' she purred. But then: 'Was that Blaise at the door?'

'Blaise? No, love. Never saw him. Fancy a bath?'

'Are you trying to change the subject?

'Can I change the subject and desire a sexy bath with the love of my life at the same time?'

'Oh, all right! Fortunately for you, a sexy bath sounds just the ticket...'

'Excellent! Step this way...'

* * *

*Arsehole (Italian, if Google Translate is correct)


	41. Chapter 41

**A/N: Sorry this isn't a long chapter either; it's all I can manage at the moment.**

 **Blaise's Mum makes an appearance; since the canon is silent on her first name, I've given her one at random.**

 **Non-Dramione lemon.**

* * *

Blaise trudged out of the Floo at his stepfather's beautiful Luccan villa, knackered beyond belief. Godric, dealing with Ministry employees was life-draining! The pompous twat he was lumbered with at the English Ministry subjected him to an interrogation so thorough he was seriously expecting to be strip-searched and internally examined before they'd give him the Portkey to Rome. _If_ they gave him the Portkey to Rome. His skin crawled at the memory.

He was probably going to have nightmares about the supercilious smirk on that pale, red-headed wanker's face as he laboriously droned on and drew out every single pointless question. Come to think of it, he was probably one of Weasley's tribe of brothers. Curly, receding red hair? Drunk on his own self-importance? Could possibly have been a prefect in Blaise's first year?

He scowled. If he ever saw a Weasley ever again, it would be twenty million years too soon.

Then he scuffed the basement's polished concrete floor with his foot, thinking about one red-headed Weasley in particular.

He thought she was an angel.

He thought he loved her.

He cringed when he thought about how little he knew back then.

All so much of six, nine months ago?

Yes, Ginny was a different cut of a Weasley colour.

And then she lost her bloody marbles taking sex lessons from his best mate!

Draco 'Hogwarts Male Slut of the Year' Malfoy.

Now, said male slut was utterly and gloriously gripped by the short and curlies by a young woman once regarded as the Holy Grail of Unattainable Virgins.

Who could get a surprisingly strong grip around men's throats.

Huh.

So much has happened!

Draco is happily in love and committed to one woman.

As for Blaise, he fell out of love as quickly as it would take to pour a bucket of ice water over his head – and dived straight back in to it with Giorgia.

Who also seems to have lost her marbles.

But it was different, this time. His anger over Gia abandoning him without a word quickly subsided and was replaced by a desperate, clawing need. One that could only be made bearable by alcohol; then with Hermione's persistent busybodying – hard work and study.

At the time, his anger at Ginny's betrayal simmered, boiled and simmered again, influenced by Weasley's dogged determination for vengeance.

Then look what happened.

This time, he was determined to do it right.

He'll find Gia.

Convince her to talk to him.

Convince her to come back to him.

Simple.

* * *

It wasn't often that he thought of his mother; they'd lived apart for so long that it was a surprise when they found themselves at the same destination.

So he didn't think of her now, heading up the stairs to the _Casa's_ ground floor.

Continuing to the bedrooms, he froze in shock when he heard something large and delicate shatter on the living room's concrete floor.

There was no way the house-elves would ever be so clumsy with their Master's things.

Has someone broken in?

Blaise drew his wand and crept towards the large, airy room.

Gods, please don't let it be a Muggle someone, he prayed. If I have to deal with the Italian Ministry of Magic once more today to get the intruder's memory erased, I won't be responsible for my actions!

Just as he put his hand to the door handle, the room rang with an incoherent moan. A woman's moan.

Now Blaise was baffled. What the hell is going on in there?

He thrust open the doors and strode inside, wand raised. 'Whatever you think you're doing, just stop' – he announced ... then his jaw fell to the floor.

He'd discovered the source of the smash, and the woman's moan.

In fact, the two were linked.

A once-beautiful House of Waterford crystal vase lay scattered in numerous pieces over a vast section of the floor. It used to live, Blaise remembered, on a side table that sat next to one of the cream-coloured leather settees. It looked like it had been accidentally knocked to the floor by the woman on said settee.

She was naked, writhing with abandon on the settee, with one hand flung over her eyes. It was probably this hand that accidentally sent a few hundred Muggle pounds'-worth of crystal to the floor. Because her other hand was clutched in the wavy black curls of a man who lay between her naked legs, ravenously tonguing and licking the woman's soaking wet core.

'Give me more!' the woman cried, grinding her hips into his face.

The man growled in response and thrust his thumb deep into her pussy, rubbing her prominent clitoris with his fingers.

'Gods, I'm going to come!' she wailed, and her body began to shake.

'Do it!' the man grunted, punishing her clit with his tongue.

'My gods, I"m coming!' the woman gasped, her body preparing for its orgasm – yes, yes, so close –

'MOTHER!' An angry young man's voice filled the room.

* * *

Benedetta, Blaise's beautiful mother, shrieked and shot off the settee, covering her still-lovely breasts and pubic area with her arms and hands. 'Blaise Zabini!' she yelled heatedly. 'How dare you barge in unannounced! Have you no shame?'

''No shame'?' Blaise repeated angrily. 'You're the one having her cunt eaten out in broad daylight in a room that anyone, including the house elves, could walk into!'

'You watch your mouth, young man!' she snapped. 'I will not have you saying 'cunt' again in my presence!'

' _Ciao_ , Blaise!' Antonio, Blaise's equally-naked stepfather said cheerily, getting to his feet and not caring at all that his magnificent erection was on full display and not showing any signs of subsidence. 'Is University finished for the term?'

'For Salazar's sake, Antonio, can you save the chit-chat for a time when we're both clothed?' Benedetta snapped.

Antonio's stiffy wilted a little. 'Aren't we going to finish, then?'

She uttered a shriek of shrill irritation and stomped past husband and son, rewarding them with an icy glare that both felt on their skin until she slammed the living room doors behind her.

'Ah, well.' Antonio found his trousers and put them on, wincing a little as he tucked himself in. 'Fancy a drink, son?'

* * *

Of all his stepfathers, Blaise liked Antonio the best. He was far easier to talk to than his harridan of a mother, and cared about his welfare. Like an actual father did, he supposed. He wasn't quite sure. His only source of comparison was Draco's old man, and Father of the Year he was never going to make.

'Sure,' Blaise sighed and put his wand away, heading to the bar while Antonio tidied himself up.

When Antonio reached the bar, his eyebrows quirked. Sitting on the marble bench were two small glasses of grappa. The bottles he kept in his cellar were 60 percent proof. Still, he toasted his stepson and they silently drank.

'Um, sorry about interrupting you,' Blaise muttered, looking at the bench. The only thing he didn't get about Antonio was why he tolerated Blaise's mother.

Antonio waved his hand airily. 'No matter. You win some; you lose some.' He looked closely at Blaise. 'What about you? University does not seem to agree with you, if you don't mind me saying.'

Blaise rubbed his head with his hand. 'University's ok. It's women. Or rather, one woman.'

'Ah.' Antonio _accioed_ the grappa bottle and topped up their glasses. 'If you want to talk, I'm happy to listen.'

'Thanks, man.'

* * *

Blaise didn't set out for the village until the morning. Yesterday afternoon with Antonio drew out into the evening, and the pair talked and drank for a long time.

Exhausted, Blaise crawled into bed; locking his door and charming the room to not let any sounds creep in. Like sexy sounds from down the hall. Benedetta spoke little to Blaise during their evening meal, but even he could see from the way she held her body that she was craving her husband's touch. Still, she was magnanimous enough to let the pair talk in low tones until midnight, when Antonio regretfully brought things to a close.

But things had been put off long enough.

Now he was heading down the hill to the township of Lucca. To Gia's parents' house.

Maybe she was there.

But if she wasn't, he would get the answers to his questions.

Of that much, he was sure.


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N: a little Crookshanks, a little Dramione lemon and a little bit of plot. Plus, this chapter's a decent size, for once!**

* * *

 **Lucca**

Blaise approached the Rossi's beautiful 17th century villa with determination. Glamoured to look like a ramshackle farmhouse of dubious stability and unlikely to contain anything except extensive bird-nesting material, Blaise entered the property the Muggle way (he shimmied up the fence and hopped over) and strode up to the imposing double front doors. He didn't want to risk Floo-calling and being told he couldn't climb through, or that he couldn't talk to Gia through the flames.

No doubt their property wards would be clanging in confusion, unable to work out who or what had invaded their property, so he correctly guessed that when he banged on the doors, it was smartly opened by the head of the household, brandishing his wand. A trembling house-elf stood behind him, trying to corral what looked like a fireball between his hands.

' _Buongiono_ , Senor Rossi,' Blaise said politely, holding his wand hand still.

Senor Rossi's mouth fell open. 'Blaise?' he squawked. 'W-what are you doing here?'

 _Whoosh!_

Both men ducked as a ball of flame soared over them and sailed down the drive.

'S-so sorry, Master Tomaso!' the house-elf squeaked, his knees knocking. 'I couldn't hold on to it!'

'No matter, Bollitore,'* Tomaso sighed, and sent the elf away. 'It's Blaise Zabini!' he shouted to the empty, opulent entranceway, and (reluctantly) stood aside to let him in.

Giamotta Rossi, Tomaso's beautiful wife and Gia's mother, peered uncertainly through one of the many doorways that lined the vast, marble-tiled hall. 'Why is he – oh!' She blushed when she realised Blaise was inside, standing formally next to Tomaso, awaiting her acknowledgement.

She schooled her features into the type of polite welcome she would bestow on the professional type of tradesperson, such as solicitors and whatever the Wizarding World equivalent of travelling insurance salesmen were.

Walking towards Blaise, she smiled (just enough) and said 'Blaise! Lovely to see you again!' and held out her hand for him to kiss.

Blaise was certain that 'lovely' was the last word she would have used, but bowed his dark head and kissed her hand as a well-raised wizard should.

'We weren't expecting anyone by the front door,' she added.

Good, Blaise thought.

Before either Rossi could start making enquiries as to what he thought he was doing here, he cleared his throat and got to the point. 'I want to see Gia,' he announced.

Tomaso and Giamotta exchanged glances.

'She is not here.' Tomaso replied woodenly.

Blaise's wand arm rippled. It was the height of rudeness to conduct a scan of the villa to uncover whatever life forms lay within (besides the house elves), but if he didn't get what he wanted, it would be done. The easy way or the hard way.

'Then please tell me where she is so I can talk to her,' he replied evenly.

'She doesn't want to talk to you!' Giamotta's voice was strident.

Blaise clenched his jaw. 'Why not?' he snapped. 'I've been going mad all these months, wanting to know why!'

'We're not speaking for her!' Giamotta sniffed, turning her back and completely forgetting that she had, in fact, done exactly that not too many seconds ago.

Blaise ignored her back and turned to Tomaso. He was a Roman Wizengamot lawyer, and very proud of his only daughter, who wanted nothing more than to follow in her Dad's footsteps.

'Why did you pull her out of university? It's got the best Wizengamot law school in the Wizarding World! She couldn't wait to start!'

Tomas's jaw clenched and he breathed in sharply through his nose. 'You tell me!' he snapped. 'She came back from your villa, silent and as white as a ghost. Then she disappeared for days! When she finally came home, all she says is 'I don't want to go to university anymore, Papa!' Over and over! Nothing else would she say! Until, eventually: 'I don't want to see Blaise anymore, Papa. I can't bear to face him!''

Blaise turned pale.

In the blink of an eye, Tomaso's wand was at Blaise's throat. 'What did you do to her?' he roared. 'Tell me!'

'Tommi, please!' Giamotta begged, her hand halfway outstretched to his wand arm. 'You can't kill him! What if he comes back and haunts us?' She cast Blaise a baleful look, who returned it with interest.

'I did nothing to her!' Blaise protested hotly, albeit with a wary eye on the wand. 'When she left my villa for the last time, yes, she was quiet and withdrawn, but otherwise fine. When we made love the night before' –

Both parents muttered an oath and crossed themselves, an obvious sign that they were spending too much time in any of the many beautiful Muggle churches Lucca had to offer.

What did they expect? Lots of witches Gia's age were married! And it wasn't like Blaise was the bloke who divested her of her virginity.

That wasn't a topic he liked to dwell on.

Pausing just for breath, Blaise carried on. 'Never mind that,' he muttered. 'The main thing is that despite her change in mood, she never once told me she was making such a drastic change in her life! I'd even kept the flat we were going to live in' –

Going by the Rossi's faces, they didn't know about that, either.

' – and when I came down here to ask you what was going on, you fed me nothing but utter crap!'

Tomaso turned puce with rage and opened his mouth, but Blaise was only getting started.

'You knew back then she wanted to leave university, but you kept that from me! For a family that cherishes their only daughter, if you expect me to believe you don't know where she is now, I call bullshit!

'And then, of course, there's this!'

Blaise pulled out the newspaper, folded at the engagement notice, and tossed it at their feet. They both inched clear of it.

'Just when I was thinking she'd disappeared off of the face of the earth – that she was even _dead_ – I find she's engaged to the son of your good mates! So, I'm asking you, with the last of my patience, once more and for the last time: what in Salazar Slytherin's name is going on?!'

His voice boomed off the walls. Tomaso and Giamotta stared at him in silence.

'I love her,' Blaise mumbled, all his energy gone. 'I can't imagine my life without her. I thought I made her happy. We talked about making a life for ourselves here. Having children, one day. But... if it's true that she doesn't want to see me again - and she loves Giuseppe instead...' his voice cracked and he stopped, turned away and rubbed his eyes with his hand.

Silence grew in the imposing hall, thick and cloying.

Then a slim, manicured hand gently touched his shoulder.

'She was extraordinarily happy all summer,' Giamotta murmured. 'It was a joy to see. But at the end – she changed so suddenly. We thought you'd ended the relationship, rather cruelly, in fact.'

Tomaso joined her. 'But now we know that isn't the case.'

Slowly, Blaise turned around. 'You believe me?' he whispered.

Giamotta and Tomaso looked at each other.

'We do, child,' Giamotta replied, smiling sadly.

Only now, Blaise realised he'd been holding his body as taut as a bowstring all this time. But on hearing Giamotta's words, his body slowly and painfully eased. He hastily brushed something that suspiciously felt like a tear from his cheek.

Giamotta pulled the tall young man into her arms, giving him the motherly comfort he'd never obtained from his own mother. Blaise shakily returned the hug, closing his weary eyes.

'We need to get to the bottom of this, son,' Tomaso said. 'We don't know what's happened. But we want the little girl we used to know to come back.'

* * *

 **Cadwur**

 **Saturday evening**

Hermione and Crookshanks lay on the settee, both concentrating on not thinking about what was going on down the hall.

Earlier in the evening, Hermione, Lavender and Ginny spent a lovely, giggly time planning Lavender's wedding while Draco and Theo were out, presumably getting up to no good.

But when Ginny found out that Blaise had departed Wizarding England's shores, she promptly fell to knees and begged Hermione, in piteous tones, for the use of the now-spare-again spare room for... you know.

'What, now?' Hermione asked incredulously.

'Please?' Ginny cajoled.

'I guess so, but what happened to Grimmauld Place?'

Ginny sighed. 'Most of Harry's Quidditch teammates are flatting there,' she grumped. 'Part of some bizarre team bonding gig. Each time someone with breasts sets foot in the house, they're overwhelmed by drooling faces or cocky posturing, and in some cases, actual cocks' –

Hermione's feminist feathers were well and truly ruffled. 'Of course you can borrow the room!' she cried. 'And the bathroom afterwards, if you like.'

'Yippee!' Ginny hugged Hermione enthusiastically and skipped off to the Floo before Hermione could sober up and change her mind.

* * *

To be fair, either she or Harry well and truly silenced the bedroom. Hermione couldn't hear a thing. Nor could Crookshanks, who could detect bed-related activity and cat/kneazle food preparations within a ten-mile radius, and was most cheesed off to discover he'd arrived at the bedroom too late to sneak in and hide until an opportune moment presented itself, i.e. when someone's bare buttocks were within striking distance. Or when dangly bits were dangling.

(Draco learned very quickly to scan the bedroom for innocent-looking orange fluff before getting down to business).

Anyway, Crooks made up for missing out on his fun by setting up camp outside the closed door and striking up an ear-splitting, never-ending howl.

Harry and Ginny were quite happy to ignore his bittersweet symphony, occupied with other activities as they were. For Hermione, there was no such escape, but no amount of yelling 'Shut up!' down the hall to her selectively-deaf familiar made the slightest bit of difference.

Crookshanks never had any idea how close he came to becoming a petrified doorstop when Hermione eventually stomped down the hall, scooped him up, hauled him to the kitchen and tossed him out into the backyard.

Crooks sat on the doorstep for a short while, bristling with indignation. That was his best operatic aria he was serenading the romantic couple with!

Oh, well.

He scratched behind his ears, gave a couple of body parts an enthusiastic licking, then sashayed down the road to visit a saucy little Russian Blue cat that just moved in a few doors down.

* * *

Bugger.

She has a boyfriend.

Ugly brute, but there's no accounting for taste, these days.

Crooks decided to forgive his tone-deaf mistress and headed back home for the cosy comforts of the settee and a witch's warm lap.

* * *

It was towards the business end of one o'clock in the morning when Draco stepped through the Floo, humming jauntily and with a gleam in his eye that Hermione knew all too well.

Good. Now that Harry and Ginny had moved on to the bathroom - and had forgotten to silence it - Hermione was feeling rather amorous.

She put her saucy romance book to one side (which also didn't help) and smirked. 'You're much less drunk than I thought you'd be.'

He climbed onto the settee, assisted Crookshanks off Hermione's chest and settled his lips on hers. He tasted of beer and Draco. 'Never too drunk when I'm coming home to you, my dear,' he murmured.

Hermione burst into giggles.

Draco nuzzled her neck. 'Glad you find me so entertaining.'

Before she could respond, something caught his eye – the cover of the book Hermione was reading. _'Surrendering To His Pleasure?'_ he smirked. 'Conducting research, are we?'

Hmm. Was she?

'Maybe,' she purred.

Not-so-little-Draco was gently warming up as man-sized Draco headed home after drinks with sickeningly loved-up Theo, ever optimistic for some fun and games with his sexy, passionate woman. Now, with just one word, a come-hither glance and a gentle bite of those luscious lips, he hardened so fast his pants zipper nearly did the poor old boy an injury.

Draco bent his head to pull her poor bottom lip free with his own, but he was interrupted by a most astonishing noise.

'Yes, yes that's it, right there, there-there-there-omigod I'm coming, yes yes YES!'

That was a young woman's voice.

Followed by a most appreciative moan from a bloke.

Then the two voices joined together, making rhythmic, harmonious grunts as the unmistakeable sounds of hard fucking wafted from the bathroom.

Draco's mouth fell open. He knew the sound of that orgasm.

One look at Hermione's face confirmed it.

'Ginny and Harry needed a place to be alone,' she said wretchedly. They'd silenced the spare bedroom earlier, but forgot when they moved to the bathroom.'

Draco shook his head in disbelief – and then noticed that Hermione was squirming and rubbing her thighs together. 'How long have you been listening to those two have sex?'

'Long enough,' Hermione moaned. Then she slid off the settee, fell to her knees and clutched his thighs. 'I'll do anything you want me to,' she begged, with wide, earnest eyes. 'Anything. You. Want. But you have to fuck me first! I think I'm only seconds away from coming!'

A more beautiful and tempting offer this Malfoy had never before received. His cock was practically banging at the zip of his trousers, desperate for freedom.

Draco pulled Hermione back up to her feet and picked her up, settling her long legs around his waist.

'Hold on,' he warned.

He apparated them both the short distance to their bedroom.

* * *

In a trice, the couple were naked. Hermione writhed in near-orgasmic agony on their bed, while Draco walked slowly around it, tapping his finger thoughtfully against his lips as he thought about how he wanted to make his witch come.

Meanwhile, the rhythmic grunts in the bathroom sped up, and Ginny's prior incoherent noises were turning into 'oh, oh, oh, oh, OH! OH! OH! Omigod yes, yes, YES!'

Both Draco and Hermione knew what was going to 'come' next.

'Draco, PLEASE!' Hermione begged, frantically fingering her soaking-wet sex.

' _Accio_ tie,' Draco said to the room, and in a trice, his green-and-silver Slytherin tie was resting in his hand.

Before Hermione could blink, both her hands were bound by the slinky material and tethered loosely to the head of their bed.

'Bastard!' Hermione spat, glaring at him. Still, her body shimmered in response to this show of dominance, and she knew then, that submitting to him turned her on more than she thought was possible.

He merely smirked in return. 'Now, how should I make you come?' he wondered out loud. 'Shall I eat your pretty little cunt out? Tongue your clit? I bet it's begging to be touched.'

'It is, so touch it already!'

'Tsk, tsk,' Draco mock-scolded. 'You're hardly in a position to be giving orders.'

Hermione sobbed-moaned to the heavens.

He climbed onto the bed and spread her legs wide apart. Oh, bliss... Hermione was Wet. With a capital W. Her essence glistened all over her pretty folds and inched down her legs. He salivated at the sight of it. Just one taste...

He licked the top of each thigh clean, viewing up close and in detail the pinky-rosy, wet folds of her sex. His cock was throbbing, desperately wanting in on the action.

He looked up from between Hermione's legs to her desperate face. 'Or maybe I should stuff your cunt full with my cock instead?' he mused. 'Surely it wouldn't take half a dozen good, hard strokes before you fall apart?'

'Anything, Draco,' she begged, her rage replaced by desperate need. 'Please do something!'

Hmm...

Glancing down, he noticed that this cock was practically standing upright. Its hardness was nearly painful.

Well, that settles it.

He knelt between her legs, the head of his cock bathed by her body's juices.

'Half a dozen, tops,' he murmured and with a snap of his hips, he found himself home.

* * *

Oh, gods...

Draco hit the back of her core on the first stroke – something he normally couldn't do, due to his size. But this time, for all her tightness, her body was soaking wet, and eagerly welcomed him in.

'Gods! More!' Hermione wailed as her body stretched to accommodate him. She wriggled her body, trying desperately to plunge up and down on his cock, but he steadied her with his hands around her hips. He withdrew, marvelling at the liquid coating his member – then fucked her with hard, fast, deep strokes.

Almost instantly, her core trembled and gripped his cock. 'Yeah, love, that's it,' he coaxed. 'Come over my cock, because next you're going to be licking every inch of it clean.'

Her cunt gripped him; and she wailed in blessed release. Her orgasm gripped her body, nearly convulsing in its desperately welcome release. She screamed in silence, the cords of her neck standing out in relief as Draco plunged relentlessly into her, over and over.

When Hermione's body tremors subsided, Draco withdrew and crawled over her supine body. Pausing only to kiss her gorgeous lips, he knelt either side of her face and lowered his erection to her mouth.

Her lips opened, and he slowly fed his cock into her hot, wet mouth, withdrawing a little, then pressing forward again. With wide eyes, she silently accepted all she could take. He stayed motionless while she fellated him, working her head back and forth as she tried to take more of his cock in.

Dear gods, watching her work his cock into her mouth, without the use of her hands; it gave him such a surge of power. It took everything he had to restrain himself from fucking her mouth and choking her. He closed his eyes, instead, focussing on her tongue and the suction of her cheeks.

Soon, the need to fuck overcame him. Pulling free of her mouth, and kissing her lips once more, he turned her onto her knees and braced her bound hands on the headboard. 'I'm going to fuck you hard, love,' he whispered in her ear, trailing a hand down her spine and over her buttocks. 'Is that what you want, too?'

'Yes, gods yes!' Hermione moaned, trying to spread her thighs wide for him.

 _Crack!_

Hermione's bottom jiggled as he slapped it.

She yelped. 'Oh gods, more!' she begged. She could barely believe what she was saying! She'd never been physically punished before. It should be demeaning, humiliating. But this – the brief, sharp pain just added to her desire, her _need_ for him.

'All in good time,' Draco murmured, before ploughing through her soaking wet folds once more.

* * *

Rather clean and decently attired, Ginny and Harry checked both the spare bedroom and bathroom to make sure all was how it was before. Before Ginny approached Hermione about the possibility of this being a more or less regular assignation, she didn't want to blow her chances by being a bad guest and leaving the rooms in an unfit state.

'Looks good,' Ginny whispered, guiltily aware of how late (or rather, how early) it was.

'Should we find them and say thank you?' Harry wondered. 'Or do you reckon they're asleep?'

'Yes, omigod yes, Draco, don't stop! I – I'm gonna – yes, yes YES!'

'Fucking hell, love, your body feels so good - Merlin, I'm coming' –

'Come on my breasts...'

'Hell, yes, yes, yes – FUCK!'

Harry and Ginny stared at each other.

'We'll leave a note,' Ginny decided.

* * *

*Kettle


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N: Dramione lemon below**

* * *

 **Cadwur**

 **The day before Practicum Semester starts**

At last, shards of early morning light peeped through the bedroom's leadlight windows. Draco didn't think he'd slept a single minute that night. This was their last day together for the short-term future. Soon, he'd be setting up in some monastic cell in the Slytherin dungeons, and Hermione would be living in the Healers' quarters at St Mungo's.

A surge of rage coursed through him. It was so bloody unfair!

He tempered his body, breathing quietly. He and his wanking hand will soldier through.

But it wasn't just the sex. Already he missed Hermione so much that his chest felt tight with anxiety.

A Malfoy with anxiety! A flying pig will come crashing through the window, next.

Slowly, he turned to look at her. She was on her back, with her hair spread over her pillow in a jumble of curls. One hand was lost in the middle of it, as if she'd pushed her mop of hair away in her sleep. Her eyes were closed, the long lashes dusting the top of her cheeks; and her lips were slightly parted.

Draco slowly stroked his morning erection.

The night had been unseasonably warm, and they slept beneath a single bedsheet. Two taut nipples poked through Hermione's side of the linen. They moved up and down in time to her breathing.

His hand crept shakily out to touch them – but he pulled it back and rubbed the stubble of his chin instead. Gods, he was selfish! Fancy waking her for a shag at whatever hour of the morning this was!

He slumped his head onto his pillow, rubbing his tired eyes and supressing a groan.

There was a rustle at his side, and he turned his head. Hermione's eyes were open and sad, looking straight at him.

Dread clutched at him. 'What's wrong, love?'

'Why didn't you want to touch me?' she asked in a croaky morning voice.

His eyebrows shot up. 'I didn't want to wake you.'

She bit her lip, sending a surge of need through his body and into his cock. 'Thought you changed your mind about wanting me.'

Draco boggled at the ridiculousness of that statement.

He pulled the bedsheet down, exposing their bodies. Between his legs, his erection stood out in angry relief, red, stone-hard and already weeping from the tip.

Her eyes grew wide.

'No-one's ever made me this hard before,' he gritted. 'With you so close, so lovely in every way... sometimes I feel like nothing but a rutting machine that just wants to plunge into your body all day long.'

Hermione's breath hitched and she licked her lips. 'You know, lust between partners can last for up to two years' –

He put a finger on her lips. 'This isn't just lust, and you know it.'

She held still.

'This isn't lust,' he repeated. 'This isn't just attraction. This is deep, deep love. I can't be without you. Your happiness is the most important thing in the world to me. I love you, and if you left me, I'd cease to exist.'

His words, spoken softly, make them all the more intense.

'You're right,' she whispered. 'We're beyond lust. But I still crave your body and I touch myself thinking about you when you're not around.'

Now _there_ was an image Draco was going to be constantly thinking about in his Hogwarts cell.

Hermione moved down the bed and lay between his legs. With her eyes fixed on his, she cradled his cock and licked it from the base to the tip with her tongue.

He let out a shaky breath and gripped the bed's headboard with one hand to steady himself.

She made his cock very wet, slowly licking and stroking with her hand and driving him pleasurably insane. But when she dipped her tongue in to the opening of his cock, his hips bucked on instinct. 'More,' he whispered.

She opened her mouth and sealed the head with it, running her tongue around its smooth, tight flesh as she stroked his length. Then she sucked it, and the contrasting sensation sent shivers down Draco's body.

She stopped teasing him and widened her mouth, feeding his shaft in. Saliva dripped and spilled down his cock, making it slide in both her hand and mouth. She sucked on it as she twisted her hand around the remainder.

Dear gods, Draco thought, high on the sensation. I want to be doing this when we're both one hundred!

She pulled free. 'You're too big! I can't take any more in!' she said with vexation.

Draco smiled. 'It's fine, love. I want to be inside you, anyway, if you'll have me?'

She stared incredulously at him. Then she lay down with her legs parted, fingers fluttering through her folds. 'Can you be slow?' she whispered, eyes wide.

He gently pulled her fingers free from her body and pulled them into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them; gently biting the sensitive tips. She gasped; then moaned, writing.

'Slow it is,' he promised, and knelt between her legs – then moved, as slowly as possible, into the tight, wet heat of her core.

* * *

They were as close as two people could be. Their legs and arms entwined around each other and they moved in perfect symphony, one body open, welcoming the intrusion of the other. A sheen of sweat broke out on their skin and they slid against other. Draco whispered into Hermione's ear as he made love to her in slow strokes. She clutched his hair and his back, wanting even more of him inside her.

Then Hermione's body started to tremble. Draco that she was approaching her release. Suddenly, he couldn't do slow anymore. He wanted to fuck, hard and fast; watch her face as her body built up to its orgasm and became overwhelmed from the things his body was doing to hers.

Raising up on his arms, he withdrew his cock most of the way from her dripping wet core, then shunted it back in, hard and fast.

'Gods!' she gasped, bracing against the headboard.

She felt tighter and wetter with each thrust, and Draco felt his orgasm build from his balls. Over and over he speared into her until she cried out in ecstasy and he felt the bliss of her spasming cunt rippling around his cock.

He closed his eyes, lifted his head and shouted out something incoherent to the ceiling; he didn't care. The incredible sensation of spending himself in Hermione's welcoming body was the best fucking feeling in the world. Something to be savoured, strung out for as long as possible.

He lowered his head to hers for their first gentle kiss of the day.

'Never leave me,' Draco whispered.

'I will never leave you,' Hermione promised.

They slowly fell asleep, entangled among each other again.

* * *

 **Platform 9 ¾ to Hogsmeade**

 **First day of Hogwarts' second term**

Note to self, Draco thought grimly as he staggered off the Hogwarts Express at Hogsmeade, his hands full. Never, ever, take the Hogwarts Express to or from school ever again! Especially when it's crammed full of bloody students.

Upon arriving at Platform 9 ¾, trunk in tow, the Malfoy in him (which, of course, made up all of him) was rather miffed to discover there were no carriages set aside exclusively for Professors or student Professors. It was first in, first served, me old mate, said the cheery Porter in between important honks of his whistle and hand-directing lost people this way and that.

It was a little late for that, Draco scowled, joining the insane throng of Hogwartians all trying to board the train at the same time, regardless of the laws of physics. Also, in typical Malfoy style, he blamed his tardiness on Hermione. Sure, he knew they had to leave at horrible o'clock in the morning to go to their new workplaces and residences. Hermione may even have reminded him once or half a dozen times. But he seemed to have had trouble disconnecting a certain part of his body from a certain part of her body.

Especially when she was trying her best not to cry.

* * *

 **Cadwur**

 **The evening before**

She'd been doing that since last night, after she returned from the Grangers.' Crookshanks had been despatched to his other forever home, since the hospital residence did not cater to the four-pawed, large and fluffy.

He didn't go without a fight: Draco was rather impressed by how efficiently a massive ball of boofy orange fur could practically disappear into thin air. It took Hermione (with Draco's kind-of-sort-of help, who suggested a few too many times that she use the _homenum revelio_ spell until she angrily pointed out that Crooks wasn't a _homenum_ ) the better part of two hours to locate him, tucked way back in the innards of the linen closet, surrounded by towels and bedsheets that he'd craftily concealed about his person. Or, rather, his cat-kneazleness.

'That's not a bad fort he made, love,' Draco commented, examining the closet's after-effects while Hermione half-scolded, half-cuddled the stuffing out of the poor, protesting animal. 'He did all that without opposable thumbs!'

This, apparently, was not the right thing to say when his lady love was about to part company (temporarily) with her beloved pet. But when she Flooed back from the Grangers, _sans_ kitty, she was too woebegone to point out what an insensitive prick he was. She climbed into Draco's arms, and that's pretty much where she stayed.

And as for this morning...

* * *

Walking past their room, Draco found Hermione carefully putting the last of her travelling belongings into her trunk. Then she shut the lid. She gently touched the domed top; then let her hand fall. Her shoulders started to shake.

Draco crossed the floor and wrapped his arms around her from behind. Resting his head gently on top of hers, he let her cry, safe in his arms, trying to keep a suspicious lump of grief from forming in his own throat.

When he could trust his voice to behave itself, he murmured 'We'll be back before you know it.'

She snorted a little at his obvious hyperbole.

'We'll owl each other' –

'Hmm...'

'And first chance we both get, we'll Floo back here or anywhere you want and shag each other's brains out!'

She laughed, and Draco smiled to himself.

'That's all I'm good for, is it?' she teased. 'Just a convenient shag?'

'Considering all we've been through, 'convenient' is the last thing you are to me, love.'

She turned around in his arms, smirking. 'You're not exactly low-maintenance yourself!'

'The House of Malfoy is synonymous with quality, my dear.'

'Want to know how much like your father you just sounded?'

Draco drew in a most offended breath, but she poked him in his diaphragm before he could get started.

'Do you want to spend our final moments together arguing, or being more productive?'

Productive? Draco wasn't altogether sure he liked the sound of that. 'Uh... what do you have in mind?'

Hermione casually nudged her trunk with her shoe. 'Fancy a quickie on my trunk before we go?'

Does Professor Sprout grow the biggest cabbages in the Wizarding World?

Bugger it, who cares if she doesn't?

Their clothes were vanished in an instant, and they both set out to discover how flexible they needed to be when it came to shagging on, over and all around a battered steamer trunk.

* * *

 **Back on the train**

Draco was reliving a particularly personal moment from this morning as he made his way down the train's corridors. Wide-eyed children parted in front of him like the Red Sea (a metaphor unknown to him, of course) as he searched for an appropriate (empty) carriage. He nodded at some of the older students he knew from when he was once one of them (one long summer holidays and school term ago), half-noticing the sloe eyes and sultry 'Hello, Mr Malfoys' from some of the young ladies.

Draco smiled to himself. Poor girls. His heart, soul and bollocks were now the property of one Hermione Jean Granger. And that was just how he liked it.

All too soon, his zen was interrupted by an irritating high-pitched squealing sound. Looking around to find the source of the din, he realised the din was coming to him.

'Oh, Misther Malfoy, thank Merlin!'

That relieved-sounding lisp belonged to Hufflepuff's Monique Mason, one of his erstwhile Traumatised First Years, a lovely young lass who seemed to possess more luscious blonde hair than she knew what to do with – and still hadn't seemed to have acquired her full complement of front teeth yet. She was bearing down on him with determination, holding the hand of a little boy with hair nearly as platinum as his own. Beneath the Malfoy-esque 'do was a very red face, streaked with tears. The source of the squealing sound, Draco could now see, was coming from this child's mouth.

'Miss Mason! A pleasure to see you again,' Draco murmured, dread building in his heart. He had a sinking feeling thing going on.

Monique's lovely face briefly lit up with pleasure. 'Ith's tho good to thee you, thir! Thecond Year Potionsth ith bloody awful with juth Profestthor Thnape. We can't wait to have you tutoring uth again!'

Draco raised an eyebrow. He should probably censure the girl for lisping disrespectful things about Snape, but then again, a) who hasn't? and b) the noise machine Monique was holding on to just kept on wailing. He nodded at the sobbing boy. 'What's his deal?'

Monique sighed and shrugged, and Draco's other eyebrow climbed up to meet its neighbour. It took quite some doing to grind down the patience of a Hufflepuff. If it wasn't for the dread that seemed to be cooking up an ulcer in his innards, Draco would have been quite impressed by this pint-sized noise polluter.

'He'th homethick, thir.'

Draco felt a monumental headache coming on. Looking out of the nearest window, as if it wasn't patently obvious by the train's motion and the clackety-clack of the train's wheels on the tracks, the many-shades-of-greeny scenery flashed past at a choppy pace. The Hogwarts Express was wending its way to Scotland; and there was no way Draco could open one of the doors and toss the little shrieker out onto Platform 9 ¾, which was his first instinct.

Grinding his teeth, Draco said 'Put him in the care of a prefect.'

'I've tried, Misther Malfoy!' the poor girl said wretchedly. 'They took one look at him and sthcarped off to the Head Prefecth' carriage, and they won't come out!'

Oh, for the love of...

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Am I the only adult on this train?'

'You're the firthst one I've found. Besideth the sweeths trolley lady.'

Hmm. Maybe if he had a word with the sweets trolley lady...

Regrettably, he shook his head and assumed the heavy mantle of adult responsibility. 'All right,' Draco sighed, holding out his hand. 'Hand him over.'

Monique's face instantly blossomed into smiles. 'Thankth, Misther Malfoy!' she cried. Gently propelling the boy forward with a 'Now, you be nithe for Misther Malfoy, okay?' to the little boy, she extracted her hand from his (with difficulty) and skipped off with relief down the corridor.

Draco ran a vexed hand through his hair. 'All right, then – hey! What are you doing?'

The boy had latched on to Draco's leg, clinging to it like a koala who's discovered he was down to his last eucalyptus branch. His tear-drenched blue eyes stared up at his similar-looking saviour beseechingly, accompanied by a substantial wobbling of his lower lip.

But for some reason, he'd stopped crying, which was an enormous relief.

Draco lightly shook his kidnapped leg to encourage him off. 'Come on, hop off.'

The boy tightened his grip.

'Off!'

The little boy emphatically shook his head.

If Hermione were here, she wouldn't be at all impressed at the state of his blood pressure.

'All right, fine!' he sighed. 'Come along, then.'

Draco headed down the corridor, resuming his search for a vacant carriage, dragging his child-belaboured leg along with him.

* * *

Praise be to Merlin and all his little pixies; a carriage was free! It wasn't the choicest selections of locomotive real estate; it was right next to the Toilets, and in his student years (how long ago those seemed!) he and his Slytherin cronies wouldn't be caught dead in it, but right now, Draco collapsed onto the seat with almost religious deference.

He peered under the fixed table, where his legs were. 'You going to come out anytime soon?'

The boy thought about it, then shook his head, still clinging to Draco's trousers.

Draco shrugged. 'What's your name?' he asked.

The boy stared at him silently.

Uh-huh. The travel time is going to fly by, Draco thought grimly. 'Well, mine's Mister Malfoy, and I'm your Potions tutor,' he said. 'Do you know what Potions is?'

More wide-eyed staring from beneath the table.

'Well, you'll find out soon enough,' Draco supposed. 'And by the way. If I need to visit the loos, you are not coming with me, is that understood?'

In this case, Draco took silence to mean assent.

He pulled his head out from beneath the table, and felt around in his robes for a KitKat that Hermione had slipped to him before he strode through the train station's brick wall to Platform 9 ¾. Yummy! He peeled off the wrapping, snapped one of the chocolate wafer lengths off and –

-noticed that the little boy was now sitting by his side, his huge blue eyes looking hopefully at the chocolate.

Draco raised an eyebrow. 'Want some?'

The boy nodded.

Draco held up the chocolate. 'All right, if' – he suddenly pulled it out of the boy's reach – 'you tell me your name. First and last.'

The boy eyed up the chocolate, then lowered his eyes and whispered 'Ashwinder Montgomery, sir.'

Slytherin's nuts, this kid's name was bigger than he was!

He tossed the piece of chocolate to the boy, who caught it deftly. Hmm. Maybe this kid wasn't a complete and utter waste of space. 'So, what's with all the crying?'

'I miss my Dad,' he whispered, then his face crumpled.

Sighing, Draco raised his arm, and the boy crawled into his side, hugging him tight.

If only Father could see me now, Draco thought grimly.

* * *

Half an hour later, there was a knock on the carriage door before it slid open. 'I say, is there any chance I can sit' – said the interloper before it recognised the occupant and stopped short. 'Ah. Malfoy.'

'Longbottom,' Draco said. 'Either piss or get off the pot, mate.'

Neville took that to mean he could come in, so he did, slumping into the other seat. 'Cheers. The train's a madhouse! The senior girls won't leave me alone! Can't say I ever had this problem when I was a student.'

Not surprising now, Draco thought, giving Longbottom the once-over. Once a timid, chubby little boy initially, he'd grown into his own in the last year or two. He towered over even Draco, possessed long, muscly lengths of body and his lean face contained a most fashionable spreading of almost-beard. He'd also gained a confidence with his limbs that Draco presumed was the result of regular congress with the naughtier of the two Patil twins. Or maybe both of them? At the same time? Draco sat a little straighter and made a note to take Longbottom out for a few drinks, see what the potential dark horse had gotten up to.

'Get used to it, mate,' was Draco's reply.

Neville grunted, then noticed that Draco's shape was oddly hump-sided. He peered closer, then realised that under Draco's arm was a sleeping boy: tow-headed, chocolate-lipped and with dried tears on his cheeks. 'Who's that, then?'

Draco sighed. 'A homesick First Year called Ashwinder Montgomery.'

'Poor kid,' Neville said sympathetically. 'I remember being homesick when I first came to Hogwarts. It was horrible at first, but it wore off.'

Draco said nothing. Aside from missing his mother, he couldn't wait to get the hell out of Malfoy Manor - and out of his father's clutches - for his first year at Hogwarts.

'Listen, Longbottom, could you do me a favour and swap places?' Draco asked. 'I'm dying to go to the loo, but every time I unhook him from me, he scrambles back into place. And I'll be damned if he's coming to the bogs with me, attached to my leg like a limpet.'

'All righ,' Neville agreed, and between the two of them, they slowly, gently, transferred the sleeping Mr Montgomery from the side of Draco's body to his.

Draco tiptoed out of the carriage, then legged it to the nearby Wizards', now thankful for his carriage's close proximity to the facilities. He sighed with near-orgasmic relief as he took a gigantic piss, completed his ablutions and stopped in the corridor to catch up with a senior Slytherin who played on the Quidditch team with him.

However, not too long into the conversation, he became aware of a high-pitched sound, increasing with persistence, in the background.

'What in the name of Salazar's nutsack is that din?' the Quidditch player muttered, looking around.

Draco held up a resigned hand. 'I left something on the boil,' he muttered, and hared back to his carriage where, naturally, the kid was awake, upright and wailing like a banshee, while Neville had retreated to a corner of the carriage, looking horrified.

He looked up in relief as Draco slid the door open. 'I swear, I didn't do anything!' he babbled, holding his hands up in innocence. 'He woke up, took one look at me, and went off!'

'Come along, Montgomery,' Draco sighed, working his way past Neville's long legs to sit next to the little boy. 'Everything will be fine.'

Ash immediately sidled up to Draco, hopping under his arm as if he was the exclusive owner of this particular piece of real estate. Cuddling Draco tight, the boy's tears and sniffles dwindled away.

Neville took his seat opposite Draco again, well impressed.

'Not a word,' Draco growled, giving Neville the evil eye.

''Course not,' Neville replied, smirking. 'I was just thinking how proud Hermione would be of you right now.'

Draco's spine straightened. 'You think so?'

'Yeah,' Neville sighed, looking out of the window. 'Birds are mad about this sort of thing.'

Draco nodded to himself. He could foresee quite a few drinks with Longbottom forming in his not-too-distant future.

* * *

 **A/N: oh dear, some portentous words were exchanged between Draco and Hermione in the first scene...**

 **Next chapter: Hermione settles in at St Mungo's.**


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N: thanks so much to everyone who's reading this story. Especially you reviewers! Your comments really make me smile. xx**

* * *

With a sleeping Montgomery in his arms, Draco scanned the melee at Hogsmeade station, searching for an easily recognisable man.

And there he was. Rubeus Hagrid's gigantic form soared over everyone else's. He held an enormous lamp up high and had already gathered a sizeable collection of First Years. They surrounded him like ducklings around their enormous ducky Mummy.

'Mr Malfoy!' Hagrid said genially. 'I know it's yer first day as a student Professor, but tha' doesn' make yer eligible fer a roide in the boat with the Firs' Years.'

Draco flicked him an irritated look, then then jiggled Ash awake. 'This is your stop, Montgomery,' Draco said, setting the boy gently on the ground. 'Just hop in one of the boats with the others and I'll see you later in Potions, okay?'

Ash, rubbing his eyes, peered at his peers and took a tentative step towards them –

'Ooh, look! It's a lost little chook!' Hagrid beamed. 'Thanks fer bringing him over, Mr Malfoy.'

Ash stared in horror at Hagrid and his impressive largesse. His mouth opened in a silent scream, and he scarpered back to safety, i.e. Draco's leg.

Draco raised his eyes to the dark sky, and (under his breath) let off every swear word he could think of.

Hagrid, rather taken aback, muttered 'Yeah, well, I s'ppose, Mr Malfoy, you'd best be comin' wi' us.'

Therefore: Draco Lucius Malfoy, eighteen years old and student Professor of Potions, found himself sitting in a boat that silently made its way across the Great Lake, surrounded by a good number of awed eleven-year-old First Years, including the one clinging to his leg.

A more imposing entrance he couldn't have wished for, he grumped sarcastically to himself.

Thank Merlin his father couldn't see him now.

* * *

'Mr Malfoy!'

Professor McGonagall's surprised voice carried to the rear of the gaggle of First Years assembled at the top of the stairs ahead of the Great Hall. 'What on earth are you doing with the First Years? You should be at the High Table with the rest of the staff.'

Draco knew that. Very well.

'Unfortunately, Professor, I stumbled across a little problem.' He lifted his robe up, and the good Professor gaped in astonishment for what might be the first time in her life.

Recovering, she asked 'Could you tell me how it happened to be that you have a child stuck to your trousers?'

'He's homesick, Professor.'

'Oh, dear,' McGonagall clucked. 'Well, it will soon pass, Mr, er' –

'Montgomery, Professor,' Draco supplied.

'Mr Montgomery,' McGonagall continued. 'You will soon find Hogwarts to be a warm and welcoming family with much to challenge and entertain you. As it will be for you all,' she added, addressing the rest of the First Years.

They all stared silently back, agog.

'Leave the child with me, Mr Malfoy,' McGonagall instructed.

Music to Draco's ears.

He gently unhooked Ash from his pants, knelt down and looked into the boy's aquamarine eyes. 'You're going to be very happy here, I know it,' Draco promised. 'Now show me how brave you are.'

The little boy gulped, and tried for an almost half-smile.

Draco returned a full one. 'Good boy! Now, I'll see you in Potions class, if not before.'

He straightened up and hustled off, leaving McGonagall to her charges.

Just before he was out of earshot, he heard a broken, sobbing wail.

Draco sped up. McGonagall's been shepherding First Years for over one hundred years, probably, he thought dismissively. She can handle Montgomery.

Still, he did feel a teensy bit shit as he made his way to the Hall's side entrance.

* * *

'Hey.' Neville toasted Draco as he tried his best to slide unobtrusively into his seat at the High Table next to the Herbology student Professor. 'Your mini-you is missing.'

'Yeah, finally,' Draco sighed. 'He's McGonagall's problem now.'

He was just about to pour a goblet of pumpkin juice when a cheerful greeting to his right made him nearly drop his glass while he scrambled to his feet.

Professor Dumbledore chuckled. 'Welcome back to Hogwarts, Mr Malfoy!' he said warmly, approaching Draco to shake his hand. 'Considering the sad circumstances surrounding your departure, I am happy to see you take your place at our table as a student professor.'

Draco did his best not to blush. 'I'm looking forward to this term, Sir,' he replied. And he really was.

Dumbledore beamed. 'And how is Ms Granger?' he asked solicitously. 'Such a shame we couldn't nab her for the Infirmary this term, but it seems her skills are already in high demand.'

So, Dumbledore got pipped at the post by St Mungo's, eh? That'll teach her to be such a brainiac, Draco rued.

'She's kept up her usual high standards of study and dedication, sir.'

Dumbledore chuckled. 'I'm sure our paths will cross again, someday,' he winked, and ambled back to his seat at the centre of the table.

Standing right behind Dumbledore, giving Draco a bit of a start, was the ever-brooding, beetle-browed Head of Slytherin House and Master of Potions.

'You're late,' was Professor Snape's greeting.

Inwardly, Draco raised his eyes to the top of the Hall's night sky and back, but kept his poker face intact. 'Apologies, Professor,' he replied neutrally. 'There was a matter involving a new student.'

'Indeed?' Snape intoned suspiciously, cranking up an eyebrow. Still, he let the matter drop, and wafted his ominous way back to his chair, next to Dumbledore's.

I'm so glad I'm working for Professor Sprout,' Neville murmured into his goblet.

They both looked across the long table at the round witch herself, who giggled and finger-waved back at the boys.

They both smirked into their goblets before raising them to her in a toast.

Draco was amused to find that the dear Professor's face resembled a lovely, round tomato when she blushed.

* * *

All too soon, it was time for the Sorting Hat to make a nuisance of itself.

A slightly rattled-looking Professor McGonagall paraded her serpentine set of charges through the Great Hall to the unassuming-looking stool, upon which sat a battered and dusty-looking witches' hat that looked long past its best-by date.

At once, it burst into an operatic monologue, eliciting one or two shrieks from the First Years. Not Montgomery, Draco noticed, but it looked like the poor kid had had about as much as he could take.

When the Hat finally got sick of his own voice, McGonagall stood next to it and read each of the First Years' names from a giant parchment. Draco and Neville started quietly betting among themselves who could guess the correct House for each student.

Neville was two points ahead when Montgomery shakily climbed onto the stool. McGonagall placed the contraption over his blonde head and waited for the verdict.

The Hat did an awful lot of mumbling to itself, and the two young men took a simultaneous sip of juice while waiting for the silly old piece of cloth to get on with it.

'SLYTHERIN!' the Hat announced.

Draco and Neville both spat their drinks over the High Table.

'Slytherin?' Draco gasped, hastily retrieving his wand and cleaning up the mess, solicitous of the enormous frown broadcasting from Snape's general direction.

Although to be fair, even McGonagall was surprised, asking the Hat _sotto voce_ if he was quite sure.

When the Hat loudly reiterated his choice, Neville said 'Bloody hell! I was certain that kid would end up in Hufflepuff.'

'I would have gone for Ravenclaw, on the assumption there's an enormous brain tucked away somewhere on his tiny person.'

'Oh, well, we'll call that a draw, then,' Neville said. 'Another round?'

'Yup!'

* * *

 **St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries**

Hermione's first impression of St Mungo's wasn't overly positive. She wasn't a fan of the trainee Healer robes she and her students had to wear. They were a blue-green colour; a bit like Muggle surgical scrubs, she supposed. The Healers' robes were lime-green, which made for some bilious-looking medical personnel.

Jason Robards hadn't been part of the St Mungo's intake, but her tall and blockily-built study buddy Erik Rojas was, along with Padma Patil. Together they roamed the hospital's corridors to the teaching wing, where a large, semi-circular lecture theatre housed rows of tiered benches around a small podium and an innocent-looking patient's table. Behind that, a variety of interesting goodies in the form of potions, unguents and oddities were shelved in an enormous array of glass cabinets. Most of the contents were dead. Or should be dead.

As Hermione, Erik and Padma took their places, a tremendous 'HARRUMPH!' burst out and bounced around the enormous room. Stunning the sea of blue-green trainees into silence, the originator of the 'harrumph' stood proudly behind the lectern on the podium, nodding with false modesty and beaming a great big set of pearly-white gnashers. A perfectly-coiffed head of wavy dark brown hair was perched on top of a head that also sported vivid green eyes, an aquiline nose and expressive lips.

'He's gorgeous!' Padma gushed in a whisper. As did many other of the trainees who were attracted to the male of the species.

Hermione and Erik couldn't see the appeal, but each to their own.

'I am Chief Healer Nathan Norris!' he boomed (the lecture theatre's acoustics were marvellous). 'Welcome to your practicum term at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries!'

He paused, expecting applause, which, after a beat, his new fan club provided.

He then droned on for a good fifteen minutes about the hospital's vision, history and achievements in the field of research, development and implementation (of which he seemed to favourably and frequently feature), before he got down to brass tacks: sorting out who would be sent to which ward for the term.

Padma hung on every word, his eyes shining. 'He's so young for a Chief Healer,' she whispered to Hermione. 'He must be awfully smart.'

'Or awfully rich and well-connected,' Hermione muttered to Erik, who hid a smirk.

Padma was assigned to Witch Obstectrics. Erik was not, which suited him to a tee, since peering inside a witches' down-below bits to see whether a baby may or may not decide to make an entrance into the world was not his cuppa tea; nor was it his planned speciality.

'You'll have to go there on rotation, you know,' Hermione reminded him.

Erik's jaw set. 'I vill find a way to get out of it,' he said darkly.

Erik soon learned his fate: he was off to the Janus Thickey Ward, which treated patients who had sustained spell damage. This, he told Hermione and Padma, he vas most acceptable of.

Eventually, students dwindled out of the theatre, shepherded along by the Chief or Deputy Chief Healer for that ward, until Hermione and a small handful of other students were left.

'Ah!' Chief Healer Norris beamed. 'I have saved the best for last! You lucky trainees are going to be working with me – yes, me! – in the Curse Alleviation ward!'

Five of the six trainees squealed in excitement (both boys and girls). The sixth made a note on her parchment.

Suddenly realising that lecture theatre seemed quiet all of a sudden, Hermione glanced up from her parchment to find everyone looking expectantly at her.

She dredged up a bewildered smile, wondering what she'd missed.

'And who might you be, my dear?' Healer Norris asked with dewy sweetness.

Hermione let the 'my dear' go and replied 'Hermione Granger, Chief Healer.'

Norris's mouth formed a perfect 'O.' 'My goodness!' he exclaimed with delight. ' _The_ Miss Hermione Granger! Of course, of course! Your university tutors speak highly of you.'

Hermione blushed prettily, hoping this wasn't going to cause a rift with the other trainees on her rotation.

'Forgive me, my dear, but I hadn't expected so talented a trainee Healer to be so... _alluring.'_ He followed that sentence up with a sultry wink.

'Um – ah – well... thank you?' Hermione stammered. Her skin was prickling from the daggers the other female trainees were flinging at her with their eyes.

Norris accepted her thanks with all the modesty it deserved (none, as far as he was concerned). 'Well, then!' he cried. 'Let us tarry no longer! Follow me to what will be a learning experience you will never forget!'

Hermione slunk out of the lecture theatre some distance behind the others, who were all crowding around the yakking Chief Healer, hanging on his every word.

She had a feeling that this term would prove to be challenging. And not in the ways she liked.

* * *

 **Floo time**

'Hey, love!'

'Hey, D.'

'Everything okay? You sound a bit down.'

'Oh, it's nothing! Just had a long day, you know. How's Hogwarts?'

'Exactly the same, haha. Dumbledore sends his regards, of course. I'm sure you were his favourite student ever.'

'Aww, that's sweet of him! Did you see Ginny?'

'Just from a distance. But no doubt I'll see her tomorrow. Any messages to pass on?'

'No, that's okay!'

'It's good to hear you laugh, love.'

'It's wonderful to hear your voice.'

'I'm going to go to the pub with Longbottom Friday evening, so I might not be able to Floo you that evening.'

'That's okay. I think Padma's cooking something up for our first week here. So, you and Neville, eh?'

'Yeah, well, he's starting to grow on me. And don't you dare repeat that to anyone!'

'Haha, I won't - what's that noise?'

'Slytherin's cesspit - hang on, someone's at my door...'

* * *

 **A minute later**

'Hermione, love, I'm really sorry, but I've got to go.'

'What's up?'

'There's a kid, a First Year, who's been sorted into Slytherin because the Sorting Hat is OBVIOUSLY bat-shit demented. Anyway, he's pretty homesick, and won't stop crying unless I talk to him. And he's just kicked off.'

'Aww, that's so sweet, love! That is such a lovely vision to part on!'

'I'm glad it's cheered you up, love. I'd better go. I love you, darling.'

'Love you too, babe.'


	45. Chapter 45

**A/N: Really sorry for the massive continuity brain fart in chapter 44... Draco was starting at Hogwarts in the second term, not the first, so there wouldn't have been a Sorting ceremony for all First Years. Gah! I won't change the chapter - it's a good reminder of me to not get so cocky with my plot notes...**

* * *

 **Hogwarts**

 **Next morning**

Draco was making his stately way to the Potions classroom after breakfast when he was grabbed from behind and heartily hugged around the waist. Whirling around, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that he'd been publicly mauled by the grinning, coppery-tressed Ginny Weasley, now, of course, in her Seventh Year. As opposed to someone like Finch, for example.

'Draco!' she cried; and then affected a sober face, offering a hand for him to shake. 'I mean, Assistant Professor Malfoy.'

'Give it a rest, Weasley,' Draco smirked, shaking her hand, anyway. Other Gryffindors milled around the pair, looking mystified by Ginny's ease with _the_ notorious Slytherin from last year, now Assistant Professor and always one seriously hot-looking piece of prime meat.

Ginny snorted. 'He doesn't bite, you know,' she drawled to her peers.

Some wandered off; others didn't look entirely convinced.

'We're your first class,' Ginny said, walking alongside him to the dungeons.

'Don't expect any favouritism from me,' Draco growled. 'If Snape got wind of anything, he'd fasten my balls to the wall – and I happen to quite like where they are, thank you.'

Ginny laughed. 'I wouldn't dare! Hermione would snap my wand.'

'Anyway, how's it going with Quidditch?'

She blushed. 'Yeah, not bad.'

''Not bad?' Pull the other one, Red. I've seen you play! I expect you to be running rings around the other teams. By yourself!'

Her cheeks heated up even more. 'Well, I broke the school record for most Quaffle points scored by a Chaser in a single game.'

Draco stopped and stared. 'Who did you play?'

'Just Ravenclaw.'

Thank Merlin it wasn't Slytherin, Draco thought, somewhat relieved.

He could see his loyalties being stretched in different directions this term.

'So,' Ginny asked, 'are we going to see you on the Quidditch pitch this term?'

Draco waved his hand faux-modestly. 'Hardly. It wouldn't be fair to the other teams to have someone as awesomely talented as me playing for Slytherin.'

Ginny snorted again. 'I think Madam Hooch might appreciate some extra coaches, especially with the younger ones.'

Draco pondered that; then realised the time. 'Crap. We'd best hurry, or we'll be late!'

The pair scampered the rest of the way to the Potions classroom.

* * *

Neither Draco nor Ginny were late to class; but Professor Snape still seemed to have a bee buzzing around in a place where the sun didn't shine for some unknown reason.

He began the lesson by dourly introducing Draco to the Gryffindor and Slytherin Seventh Years, even though almost everyone remembered Draco from his recently-completed schooling. He ran through a catalogue of imaginative threats that he would be more than happy to follow through on if any of them tried any tricks with the new staff, instructed the class to turn to page 1,524 of their syllabus – then informed them that Assistant Professor Malfoy would take the class in his stead. Then he sat behind his desk, looking like he was buckling down for the long haul.

Should have known Snape would try a trick like this, Draco thought ruefully.

Opening his own copy of the textbook, he discovered that he'd been set the task of teaching the students how to make the developing solution that makes photographs move. A not-altogether complicated potion, but it used one or two extremely unstable ingredients.

He scanned the class for signs of possible Longbottoms. It wouldn't do to blow up Snape's Potions classroom on his first day.

Oh, well. Here goes nothing.

Crossing to the blackboard, he said 'Ladies and gentlemen, you're in for a treat today! One of the greatest secrets of the wizarding universe will soon be revealed to you: how Wizarding photographs move!'

Someone, probably Ginny, snickered.

'You never know where it might come in handy,' Draco continued, undaunted by the class's collective apathy. 'Can anyone tell me if Muggle photos move?'

All the Muggle Studies students raised their hands.

Draco picked someone at random, a Slytherin girl with a serious face, large brown eyes and bronze ringleted curls that fell down her back. She wore spectacles that owled-up her eyes even more. 'Miss -?'

'Lucas, Sir. Xenia Lucas.'

Draco didn't recall her from previous years.

'I transferred to Hogwarts this year from Ilvermorny,' she said a little sadly.

Ah.

'Miss Lucas, do Muggle photos move?'

'No, Sir. Just wizard ones.'

'Yes!' Draco replied. 'And... no.'

That got the classroom's attention.

'Let's work through this potion, and you'll see what I mean. But first things first – a word of warning about some of the ingredients.' He fished a wadded-up piece of scrap parchment from his robe pocket and lobbed it to a boy who looked to be in the middle of a growth spurt. The elbows on his gangly arms looked like lethal weapons. Caught by surprise, the boy lurched to catch it; but missed, knocking over an empty cauldron in the process.

'Mr Snodgrass, you're in luck!' Draco said to the boy, whose burning ears looked like they were literally on fire. 'As we happen to be an uneven number today, you get to help me craft the potion.' He beckoned the boy forward.

Phew, Draco thought as the boy clumsily collected his books. Longbottom disaster: neutralised.

And class began.

* * *

 **St Mungo's**

By the end of the first day, Hermione was, for the first time, regretting being blessed with a brilliant brain. At first, she didn't notice that she was the only student answering all of Norris's questions. But at some point, she realised that the glaring daggers from the rest of her cohort weren't lessening up any, so she made a point to keep schtum and let the others have a go.

Trouble was, Chief Healer Norris wasn't having any of that. Each time he asked a question, he'd look around the motley crew, deciding who to pick for their answer... and chose Hermione. Every time.

* * *

Erik found Hermione sitting alone at a table in the Hospital's staff dining room. A single apple sat on the table in front of her.

He sat next to her. His hearty steak sandwich made the apple look tiny and inconspicuous. Much like Hermione, who wasn't even eating it. Her hands lay limp on her lamp.

'Vat's up?' he asked with some concern. He'd never seen her so low. 'Are you missing Blondie?'

Hermione snorted at Erik's petty nickname for Draco. They'd met socially at University, but Erik quickly picked up Draco's international man language, which telegraphed dire consequences for Erik if he so much as laid a fingernail on Hermione in a suggestive manner. Erik, who had a very discreet and low-key 'understanding' with a wizard back home, awarded Draco with this nickname.

'No, we spoke last night,' Hermione replied, still looking at her apple.

When she lapsed into silence, Erik gently prodded her. 'Vell, something isn't right, and you haf to tell me. Othervise, Blondie vill beat me to a pulp if I don't look out for you.'

Hermione sighed. 'The other student Healers in my intake don't like me,' she muttered.

Erik took a large bite of his sandwich and ruminated. 'Is this possibly to do vit your gigantic brain?'

'Look, my brain is a perfectly normal size!' she said hotly; then turned glum again. 'Yes.'

'Hmm. Vell, I von't insult you by suggesting the obvious.'

'I've tried! Dear Merlin, how I've tried!' Hermione took a ferocious bite of her apple. 'Norris just keeps calling on me for every question he asks!'

Hmm. Erik paused in his ruminating.

'Do you think it's odd?' she pressed.

Erik's strengths lay in logic, not imagination.

'Try insisting. Or take him to von side and explain he's making you unpopular.'

Hermione considered. That sounded reasonable. Even though the thought of speaking to Healer Norris in private made her feel...

 **Friday**

* * *

Padma's plan for Friday night was simple – go to a Muggle nightspot, drink copious amounts of booze and dance the night away. Well, that's what she had planned for herself and Hermione. Erik could come along and bodyguard when necessary, or he could spend the evening in his room, wanking to _Playwizard._

As far as Padma was concerned, those were his only two options.

Erik sighed and headed to the showers.

* * *

 **Phobia (nightclub, Muggle London)**

Hermione was happy. The second the trio got to the doors of the dark, smoky venue, the fast, rhythmic bass that instantly made her heart throb in time, the ear-splitting decibel levels and the smell of alcohol, sweat and perfume all did wonders for her mood. This was another world – hot, sweaty, Muggle-y: she didn't have to be Hermione Granger, swotty trainee Healer. She could be anyone she wanted!

She felt a pang when she realised that no matter who she wanted to be, she wanted to be that person with Draco.

But this will do in the meantime.

Padma had already caught the nightclub bug, and her high-heeled feet tapped impatiently as their Muggle IDs were checked at the door by a bouncer with very interesting tattoos wrapped around two very muscly arms.

Padma made sure to thank him most appropriately for his customer service.

Erik kept his sigh to himself. They weren't even in the building, and Padma was already staking her claim on a hapless human.

And as for Hermione... he kept his shudder to a minimum. She wore a short, sparkling midnight blue dress with a cowl neck, shoestring straps and a rather lovely expanse of bare back. Her curls were piled up on her head, free of her neck, and she strode confidently on stiletto sandals with a cuff-like strap around her ankles. She looked like a walking sex bomb; and now Erik could understand why Blondie took a dim view of any man hovering around her.

He engaged his glower power to maximum impact, startling a few of the young men who just happened to be innocently walking by.

* * *

A couple of drinks down the hatch later, Padma and Hermione were on the dance floor, living it up like it was the 1970s. Hermione had let her hair down – literally – and was jitterbugging away with Padma, holding hands and twirling each other around, getting very giddy.

Erik was the type of bloke who would rather stick a rusty fork in his eye than dance, so he kept watch on the dance floor by the bar, testing the venue's ridiculously overpriced beers, trying to find one that didn't taste like weasel piss.

No-von makes a good beer like the vons from his home country, he lamented silently.

All at once, Hermione's hand slipped from Padma's and she twirled away, tripping on one of her mammoth heels –

A pair of sturdy male hands gripped her waist and steadied her.

Breathlessly, she swivelled around, laughing. 'Thanks, Erik' –

Her words died in her throat.

Her saviour was Chief Healer Nathan bloody Norris.

* * *

 **The Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade**

'So,' Draco said, sipping his beer and glancing around the Tavern. 'Quiet night.'

Neville placed his beer back on the table. 'Yup.'

* * *

 **Phobia**

'What are you doing here?' Hermione cried, shocked, and trying not to stare. Which was difficult because he was wearing tight, shiny black pants and a billowy gold-coloured shirt. A thick gold necklace twinkled suspiciously from his neck.

Norris grinned, tightening his hands on her waist. 'Rescuing damsels in distress, I would say.'

Hermione glanced around, searching for either Padma or Erik, and coming up with zilch.

Norris put his lips close to her ear, and she froze in shock.

'I was thinking about our private conversation the other day.'

Oh, heck.

'I never meant make you feel unpopular with the other students, Hermione,' he murmured, pulling her unwilling body closer to his. 'Perish the thought! Still, it's not their they're so ordinary, when you, my dear' (he lowered his voice) 'are _anything_ but.'

Hermione gaped at him. 'Sir, I really don't think' –

Norris's eyes glittered. 'It's not 'sir' now, Hermione. It's just you, me, and the dance floor.'

Without warning, he took her hand and twirled her away, and then back to him, pulling her so close to his body that she could clearly appreciate _all_ its form.

He dipped her backwards in a rather professional move.

While Hermione's head was upside down, she recognised, with relief, the dark blue jeans clinging to the long limbs of Erik. As Norris pulled her up again, Erik's hand slid under hers.

'May I haf this dance?' he asked Norris in a neutral tone.

Just before Norris could hotly reply in the negative, Hermione gripped Erik's hand and cried 'Of course!'

Erik pulled her body free of Norris's and escorted a most grateful Hermione away from the Chief Healer, now standing in the middle of the dance floor and looking rather peeved.

'Where were you?' Hermione hissed as they scuttled away.

'The bathroom! The beer here is terrible! Goes right through me!'

She shivered, rubbing her arms, and Erik wished he had a jacket to loan her. 'Can we please find Padma and go home?' she asked. 'I don't want to stay here.'

Music to Erik's ears. 'Vere did you last see her?'

Wherever it was, she wasn't there now. Fortunately, Erik's tallness proved effective for locating dancing witches. Unfortunately, his scan of the area, plus Hermione's search of the Ladies', did not result in success.

Even worse, Erik spied the octopus-armed Chief Healer pushing his way through the crowd towards them.

Time for evasive action.

'Let's go out front,' Erik suggested, taking Hermione by the arm and setting a cracking pace towards the exit. 'Stay vit the bouncers vile I haf another look.'

'Why do you – oh, shit.' Hermione looked over her shoulder and clocked the impending danger.

They triple-timed to the doors, and Hermione sighed in enormous relief when they exited, as they'd also discovered Padma, leaning close to the bouncer with the interesting tattoos and sighing in awe as he explained what they meant and where he got them.

'Padma, ve're going home! Hermione isn't vell,' Erik called. 'You staying or coming?'

Padma quickly excused herself and hustled over. 'Are you all right, hun?' she asked Hermione with concern, noting her white face.

'Yeah, it's just... been a long week, I think.' Hermione tried a smile on for size. 'But don't feel you need to go on my account, if you'd rather stay.'

Padma turned back to the bouncer and gave him a sultry smile and a finger-wave.

The bouncer looked startled and waved self-consciously back.

'I think I'll stay a bit longer,' Padma purred. 'But I do hope you'll feel better.'

'All right,' Hermione smiled, kissing Padma on both cheeks. 'You stay safe!' she whispered.

Padma laughed, touched her finger to the side of her nose, and sashayed sexily back to the bouncer, who was working out how much time left he had on the clock before he was off duty.

'Let's go home,' Hermione sighed, and she and Erik set off to a deserted place to apparate.

* * *

 **On the way home**

Erik: 'Vat the hell vas Norris v _earing_?'

Hermione snorted, chuckled, then burst out laughing. 'Dear Merlin, that was bloody frightful!'

They laughed all the way back to their rooms.


	46. Chapter 46

**A/N: WARNING - contains non-consensual scenes and much, much treachery. Proceed with caution.**

* * *

 **Some weeks later**

 **Hogwarts**

One evening, for lack of anything better to do, Draco found himself wandering about Hogwarts' magnificent and imposing library, reliving fond memories of the time when he was a student. Particularly the memories involving Hermione in Seventh Year in the Restricted Section.

His libido, always up for a game of Let's Remember, flagged a tad when he remembered why he was wandering aimlessly around the Library's lamp-lit shelves and study nooks.

He and Hermione had meant to do a Floo-call, but she cried off. Again.

She was tired, she said. She'd had a gut-wrenching week, literally. She offered to go into the details, but Draco preferred his dinner to stay inside his stomach, not spread over a vast circumference for all to see.

Except it wasn't the first time she'd cancelled. With the same, or similar excuse. But when he asked if anything was wrong, she chirpily replied no, no, NO, nothing was wrong, it was just a brutal schedule to keep to and she's not the only one finding it fatiguing and to be honest she'll be bloody glad when this term is done with. For sure.

Draco would leave her to it, albeit with misgivings. The type he didn't like to think about.

Anyway, once he'd given the Restricted Section (restricted to him no more!) a bittersweet sweep-through, the sound of sobbing caught his ear.

Female sobbing, as opposed to Montgomery's homesick wails. Which, thank Merlin, had been tapering off as of late.

Draco rounded a pillar and found one of his Seventh Years tucked up in an alcove, weeping over her Potions textbook. It was Miss Lucas, surrounded by a sea of crumpled and blotted parchments and sobbing as though her heart would break. _Sotto voce,_ since this was the Library.

'You all right, Miss Lucas?' Draco whispered, despite it looking perfectly obvious that things were NOT right at all.

She started; and more blotted parchment remnants fluttered to the floor. 'Oh, Professor Malfoy!' she whispered-sobbed, rubbing her nose and pushing her glasses back into place. 'I'm so sorry, but Ilvermorny was nowhere near as advanced as Hogwarts in Potions, and I'm finding it ever so difficult to keep up, and Snape is such a fright, and my parents will throttle me if I fail Potions because they're both Healers, you see and' –

The rest of her monologue was drenched in wails and damp, sniffly parchment.

Draco pulled up a chair and sat next to her, offering her one of Maple's proudly-laundered Malfoy-monogrammed handkerchiefs (although they were presently being proudly laundered by Hogwarts's house-elves). He waited patiently while she dried her eyes and honked her nose and generally turned herself in a puffy, berry-faced woman-child.

'Would you like some tutoring?' Draco eventually asked.

Xenia Lucas looked at Draco as if he had just offered her the moon and stars. 'Would you, Professor?' she squeaked. 'That would be ever so lovely!'

'All right, come by my office tomorrow and we'll work out a schedule,' Draco said. 'And you might as well head off to bed now. I don't think much more is going to get crammed into a head that's full of tears and snot.' He grinned to take some of the sting of the words away.

'Thank you, Professor Malfoy!' Xenia gushed, then awkwardly held out his well-used hankie.

'Uh, just put it through the laundry,' Draco suggested.

'Oh. Of course. Thank you, sir.'

Draco ambled away from Xenia's nook and headed to his room, feeling rather chuffed with himself. Hermione would love to hear how he's tutoring the desperately desperate.

If she wants to speak to him.

* * *

 **St Mungo's Cafeteria**

'Oops! Sorry.'

The fake apology generated from one of Hermione's fellow Curse Alleviation course-mates, who deliberately bumped Hermione's shoulder – with more energy than needed, it must be said - sending Hermione's soup, bread and apple tumbling to the floor. Via her trainee Healer robes.

'Hey! Vat gives?' Extra-tall Erik saw it all from the other side of the table, and raised himself to his full height to glare menacingly at the distinctly unapologetic young lady whose shoulder was the cause of the calamity. 'You did that on purpose!'

Her only reaction was to give Erik a saucy wink. 'Next time you want a _real_ woman to show you a good time, come find me. I guarantee I'll give you a better time than that frigid witch.' The last two words were spat in Hermione's direction as the uncouth lady sauntered off without a care in the world.

For a moment, Erik was so enraged he couldn't speak. Seeing that Hermione had the mess in hand, s _courgifying_ away with her wand, he took a couple of long steps towards the rude woman when Hermione said in a dull tone: 'Let her be, Erik.'

'I vill not let that bitch be! She ruined your lunch!'

'If I complain or retaliate, it gets worse,' she sighed. 'Trust me.'

Erik sat back down again. Then he gave Hermione a long, considered look.

'How bad is this?' he asked gently.

Hermione shrugged and looked away.

* * *

 **Chief Healer Norris's private rooms**

Hermione gritted her teeth, then knocked on the door.

'Enter!'

She opened the door, remaining on the threshold. 'You wished to see, me, Chief Healer?'

In his enormous office, decorated on all sides with shelves, upon which hideous and monstrous bits and pieces sat in jars, some moving, some not – Norris laughed heartily and swivelled around in his chair, smirking. 'Do close the door, dear. It's bringing in an awful chill. And please, call me Nathan. It's just the two of us.'

Hermione stared at the door as it shuffled closed. Yeah. I know.

'You know, I much preferred that lovely dress you wore at Phobia those weeks ago, compared to what you're wearing now.'

Hermione looked down at her jeans, sweater and Healer's robes. 'Well, that dress isn't really practical for work, sir.'

He sighed. 'No, more's the pity.' He stood up and plucked a large tome from the top of a swaying stack of books. 'Now, I wasn't really impressed on your essay about Fiendfyre treatment. It rather glossed over the all the known alleviations. So here' – he ruffled through some pages – I'd like to expand your knowledge by letting you read one of my private texts.' He beckoned her closer.

'How kind of you,' Hermione replied woodenly. She forced her feet to step towards him.

'Here.' He placed the text on a pedestal and gestured her to her spot.

Cautiously, she approached the lectern and read silently.

'Out loud, if you please, Hermione,' Norris interrupted. 'It's not often that I hear my texts being spoken by someone with such a sultry voice.'

Hermione clenched her fists, but read the words out aloud.

The Fiendfyre chapter was a few pages long, and Hermione lost track of Norris as she read and learned. Until she came to the last page –

His arms slid around her waist.

'Sir-Nathan, what are you doing?' she squeaked.

'As I please,' was his sinister reply. His hands moved to her breasts.

'I'll scream,' she warned.

He snorted. 'No one will hear.'

'Then – then I'll report you to the hospital board!'

He chuckled, nuzzling her neck. 'And who are they going to believe, my deliciously naive little girl? A Chief Healer, with years of experience and no complaints about impropriety – ever – or a lonely, isolated little brainiac who's peeved that I didn't give her perfect marks on her essay work?'

The room was silent.

'Read!' Norris commanded harshly.

Tears splashed on the textbook's page. But Hermione read it, all the same.

* * *

 **Hogwarts**

 **One evening, a few weeks later**

A knock at his bedroom's door roused Draco from his Hermione-less funk. Well, he got up from his bed. He was still in a funk.

After shuffling to the door, he opened it to find a buoyant Xenia Lucas, wreathed in smiles and holding a box that promised something chocolatey and delicious inside.

'Hi, Professor Malfoy!' she beamed. 'My parents sent me my favourite chocolates from America as a reward for doing so well on my Potions mid-terms, and I'd love it if I could share them with you, as a thank you for all your help! I couldn't have done it without you.'

'Chocolate, you say?' Draco asked, a lazy grin on his face. Might as well spend the rest of the evening stuffing his face. Seemed like that was going to be the most orgasmic experience he was going to get for a while.

(Even though he really shouldn't have students in his room. 'Rumours,' Snape intoned darkly when he'd first shown Draco to his bedroom, complete with his own tiny little bathroom. He didn't qualify for a sitting room until he got tenure.)

But – chocolate!

He stepped aside and let her in.

'Yay!' Xenia skipped into his small room and made herself comfortable at his desk, while he sat on the edge of his bed. She lifted the box lid up with a self-conscious flourish, and Draco looked with approval at the dark, glossy little bonbons that lay within, snug in their satiny settings.

'You must try this one, Professor!' Xenia gushed, pointing to a particular morsel dripping in pink icing. 'It's dark chocolate and raspberry. Gorgeous!'

'Don't mind if I do,' Draco smirked, picked out the chocolate and bit into it.

Slytherin's socklets, it was divine! Draco swallowed it and gobbled the other half down.

But then -

'Wow!' he slurred, swaying from side to side. 'I feel all – I dunno – how do I feel?'

Xenia looked dumbfounded. 'You look kind of sleepy.'

'Yeah!' Draco breathed. 'Sleepy. That's exactly how' –

He fell back onto his bed, out for the count.

'Professor Malfoy!' Xenia exclaimed, shocked. 'Oh dear, whatever seems to be the matter?'

No response.

Xenia leaned over his prostrate body and felt for his pulse at his neck. It beat steadily, thankfully.

'PROFESSOR MALFOY!' she shouted.

Not a hair stirred on his handsome head.

Xenia stood up, and with her wand, double-locked and silenced the bedroom.

Toeing off her shoes, she removed her tie as she sauntered to her bag and pulled out a camera.

'Thanks for the lesson on photo developing solution, Professor Malfoy,' she murmured, with a smile that would have made Draco's bowels dance the Macarena, had he seen it. 'I hope I get course credit for the practical application I'm about to commence.'

Her uniform fell to the floor in bits and pieces. Then, nude, she raised her wand and pointed it at Draco.

' _Divesto.'_

* * *

 **Next morning**

With an insane amount of wizarding effort, Draco cranked an eye open. Snakes alive, how much did he drink last night? He lifted his head, waited for his room to stop swimming, and slowly hauled himself into a sitting position. Merlin, he was exhausted.

His eye fell on an opened box of chocolates sitting on his desk.

That rang a vague bell...

He heaved himself up and staggered, nude, over to his desk.

An envelope lay on top of the box.

A tendril of misgiving unfurled from his fingers as he picked it up and opened it.

First, there was a letter.

 _I'd waited so long to bed the infamous Draco Malfoy, but when the time finally came, you were a little lethargic, my dear._

 _I was wonderful, at least._

 _Oh, well._

 _Enjoy your day. It might turn out to be rather challenging._

What?

The fuck?

The remainder of the envelope's innards spilled onto Draco's rumpled bed as he struggled to understand the letter's meaning.

After he glanced at the photos that lay face-up, he staggered backwards, then bolted to his bathroom, where he was very violently sick.

* * *

 **St Mungo's Residence Halls**

 **Same time in the morning**

Hermione watched her small room slowly lighten from black to greying shadows. Once again, she'd had another near-sleepless night. Norris and his bullying acolytes were driving her insane. But there was nothing she could do. She had to finish this rotation, come hell or high water.

And when she did, she'd race back to the flat she shared with Draco, jump him the second he arrived, and shag him from here to Kingdom Come.

Gods, she felt so bad not telling him about what was going on! But he'd just lose his shit, storm over here and make things worse. Erik and Padma were supportive, at least, but they couldn't be around her all the time. And they didn't even know everything.

Ugh. Another bloody day.

A rustle at her door made her raise her head, and a letter slid under it and across the floor.

Hermione glared at it. If it's another bloody command from Norris, or more poison pen letters from the bullies...

However, she was pleased to see, once she gingerly raised it with her wand and levitated it nearer, that it bore Hogwarts's mark. Her heart lifted. Is it from Draco? The writing wasn't his, but...

Oh, no. Fear clutched her heart. What if something had happened to him? What if he fell off his broom and his bones are still growing back and he can't write?

She ripped open the bulky envelope and fished out the letter. Although it was really more of a note.

 _Granger,_

 _A man with a body this fine should be shared around, don't you think?_

 _Try not to be so selfish, dear._

Her brow furrowed. What?

She pulled out the photos, unsure what was going on.

But then she saw.

And finally, she knew.

* * *

Each moving image evoked a nightmare.

Draco, lying nude on his bed, his face turned away. As if ashamed.

A girl adjusting the camera to make sure it focussed on his torso and genitals. Her bronze curls tumbled over her shoulders. Her high breasts jiggled when she skipped over to Draco's bed, climbed on, and took his flaccid cock in her hand.

* * *

In the next photo:

She smiled knowingly, then stimulated him vigorously with her hand, forming exaggerated 'Oh my!' looks on her face as he hardened and grew under her touch.

* * *

Next photo: she looked at the camera and winked salaciously, wetting her lips with her tongue. Then she turned back to Draco's erection, opened her mouth, and sank down on his rigid flesh, wetly and dramatically sucking hard, then making every single inch he had disappear into her eager, gobbling little mouth.

His hips moved slowly, rising a little every time she sucked hard, her cheeks hollowing.

* * *

The next photo...

Her pert, lovely body knelt above Draco. She was rubbing between her legs with one hand and roughly handling her breast with the other. His erection pointed to the centre of her body.

Don't look any more! Hermione gritted to herself. She doesn't need to see.

But an invisible imp took her hand and collected the next photo.

* * *

She was riding his cock, brutally hard. She even changed the angle of the camera so Hermione could clearly see his cock surging in and out of her cunt. It was slicked wither her arousal.

* * *

The next photo saw the girl looking back and winking as she guided Draco's cock into her arse.

* * *

The one after that showed her twerking her comely little bottom over Draco's cock, sending it pumping in and out of her arse.

* * *

There was one last photo.

Draco ejaculated on her face and into her open mouth. She kept her mouth disgustingly open until he'd finished, then she made a show of swallowing. She ran a finger through some semen that landed on her cheek, and sucked that finger dry. She winked at the camera, and that was finally the end.

* * *

Hermione shakily raised her wand, tried with all her might to think of something happy, and conjured her _Patronus._

* * *

 **Hogwarts**

 **Slytherin Common Room**

'I need to speak to Hermione Granger!' Draco shouted desperately into the Floo.

On the other end at St Mungo's Residence's communal room, a disinterested voice belonging to a disinterested student's head said 'Who?'

'Granger! Hermione Granger! She lives there, all right? Look, this is an emergency! I need to speak to her immediately!'

'She's probably in the Wards, kissing Norris's arse.'

'What are you on about?' Draco demanded, getting the closest to having a panic attack than he's ever been before in his life.

'Listen, mate, I need to call my Mum. Can you get off the network?'

'Wait' –

Too late - the call ended.

Draco stared in disbelief at the fireplace, heedless of the students who were milling around, staring at him.

No, no, no. This was bad, bad, BAD.

He had to go to St Mungo's-

'Professor Malfoy.'

Oh, wonderful.

Draco stood up and faced Professor Snape, who was looking exceptionally livid. Even more so when he saw what Draco was wearing.

Belatedly, Draco glanced down. He was in his trousers, socks and a shirt he hadn't bothered to button at the front or cuffs. He was stubbled and his hair was wild. The senior girls were seeking looks at him from under their eyelashes and giggling.

Draco sighed and did his buttons up. 'Professor, I need to take today off. There's been an emergency.'

'Does this have anything to do with your emergency?' Snape snapped, holding out an opened envelope.

Draco turned grey. 'Oh, fuck' – ow!'

Snape had sent a mild shock to his Tutor's arm. 'We do not tolerate bad language in this House,' Snape intoned. 'Especially from the staff.'

Rubbing his arm, Draco tried again. 'That envelope is a set-up, sir! I have absolutely no idea what's going on!'

'I'm not sure I'm relieved or disappointed by your words, Mr Malfoy.'

A new voice added to the conversation. Entering the Common Room, a most sober and concerned Professor Dumbledore stood next to Snape. Also clutching an opened envelope.

Draco groaned, as if in pain. How many fucking envelopes are there?

Snape glared at his students, all of whom were sitting or standing still with wide eyes, watching the events unfold like spectators at a tennis match. 'Get off to the Great Hall for breakfast, all of you!' he thundered.

Not a soul moved.

'This does need getting to the bottom of,' Dumbledore said wisely. 'Mr Malfoy, could you make your way to my office while Professor Snape arranges for Miss Lucas to' –

'That's it!' Draco snapped his fingers, and bolted down the corridor to where the Seventh Year single rooms were domiciled.

Snape and Dumbledore stared at each other, then hustled off after him.

* * *

Draco stopped a girl who'd slept in and was hurrying down the corridor to breakfast. 'Which room is Xenia Lucas's?' he gasped, wide-eyed and desperate.

'That one, sir,' she squeaked, before backing away and legging it down the corridor, only avoiding bumping into Snape and Dumbledore by just a whisker.

'Malfoy, I will not have you barging into a female student's room unannounced!' Snape barked, practically purple with fury.

'It won't matter, sir,' Draco reasoned. 'She won't be there.'

'Even if she's at breakfast, Mr Malfoy, it's still not good manners to look through someone's room when they're not there to give permission,' Dumbledore added.

'No, sir, I mean, she's gone! I bet my life on it.'

'Don't be ridiculous,' Snape scoffed.

Draco ignored him and appealed to Dumbledore. 'Sir, I don't know what letter you got with those photos,' he spat, 'but my letter contains a clue about the person who wrote it. I've only just realised.'

Dumbledore raised a calming hand to Snape's sarcastic snorting. 'Go on, Mr Malfoy.'

Draco pulled out his letter, looking very crumpled from when he jumped up and down on it a few times, then shoved it into his pocket. 'See, sir? " _I'd waited so long to bed the infamous Draco Malfoy, but when the time finally came, you were a little lethargic, my dear."_

Dumbledore peered at the letter through his prince-nez. 'Er, I don't understand.'

'Miss Lucas has just known me this term. It would be odd for someone to say they'd been waiting all this time to, um, sleep with me if it's just been a matter of weeks.'

'Weeks can mean a long time to a teenage girl, Mr Malfoy.'

'Okay, but there's one person I do know that had been waiting to, um, sleep with me but it never eventuated, no matter what she tried.'

Snape became alert and ominously silent. Dumbledore was still none the wiser.

'Sir,' Draco said, 'I believe the person who wrote my letter – and was responsible for the photographs – is Pansy Parkinson.'

The older Professors looked at each other in silence.

'And, look here!' Draco cried, stabbing the letter with his finger. 'It says here I was 'lethargic! I'm never lethargic,' Draco added hotly. 'I felt like a zombie this morning when I woke up, and the effects didn't go away until I threw up. I think she laced a box of chocolates with Dreamless Sleep – a really concentrated version – and, um, had sex with me when I was unconscious.'

Now it had been said out loud, the implications of what had happened became clear. He'd had sex against his will and without his knowledge. And if he didn't get the bottom of it, this will ruin his relationship and career.

He leaned a shaky hand against the corridor's stone walls to steady himself. He felt worse than sick.

Snape drew out his wand and scanned Draco's body. A faint, but clear tell-tale hue surrounded him like an aura.

It did not need to be said that Draco was correct.

'In that case...' Dumbledore pondered, _'Alohomora!'_

The door to Xenia's room creaked open, and Dumbledore stood on the threshold. 'Are you decent, Miss Lucas?' he called; then fell silent. He stepped into the room, and Snape and Draco followed.

The room was almost bare. The bed was empty, and wardrobes and drawers were picked clean. Only Miss Lucas's desk held signs of previous activity.

Once again, Snape's trusty wand was put to work. 'Developing solution,' he monotoned when his wand hovered over some silver drops. But he didn't need his wand to identify the contents inside a battered-looking bottle. He lifted the stopper, and the smell wafted under his impressive nostrils - which he wrinkled with distaste.

'Polyjuice Potion,' he spat.

Draco slumped onto the bed. All this time she'd been masquerading... Gods. Parkinson's a certifiable maniac!

'We'd best start searching for Miss Parkinson,' Dumbledore decided. 'I doubt she'd be silly enough to remain on the grounds, but we have to be sure.'

Snape nodded shortly, and billowed back down the corridor, pausing only to yell at the students who'd refused to leave in the hopes some juicy gossip or explanations would be forthcoming.

* * *

 **Hogsmeade Station**

'School's out for ever!' Pansy hummed as hopped on board the train. Now clad in her fashionable clothes instead of that dingy uniform, Pansy settled into her seat with a contented sigh.

A wedge has been driven between Malfoy and Granger, the power couple.

And that's only the start!

Her body tingled from the sheer fun of it all! And not just tingled. She needed to get laid.

Romania, here I hope to come again...and again...


	47. Chapter 47

**A/N: Everybody wide awake now? I didn't actually realise how shocking the previous chapter was for many of you, because I know what the plot is. I'm sorry for the sudden jolt!**

 **We are well and truly into the treacherous side of the story, folks, but don't forget, it has a happy ending. I hate unhappy endings, so I'm definitely not going to foist one of those on you! But... there has to be conflict. And there will be. Lots of it.**

* * *

 **St Mungo's**

 **Hermione's room**

Summoned by Hermione's rather wobbly _Patronus,_ Erik and Padma leapt out of bed (their own ones) and bolted down corridors and up stairs and around corners in their jim-jams until they burst into her room, discovering a heartbreaking sight.

A deathly-pale young woman lay on her bed, sobbing, her body curled protectively around her heart. Photographs lay strewn across the floor.

Like a well-oiled team, her friends leapt into action. Padma rushed to the narrow bed to comfort Hermione, and Erik bent to collect the pictures. His eyes lit upon the photo of a young woman greedily swallowing some rando's jism and he frowned, wondering why Hermione had such pornographic material in her possession, and (a little guiltily) who the owner of the rather splendid-looking cock was.

He got his answer when he collected the last photo. The young man's face was turned away, but that platinum hair and strong, aristocratic jaw were instantly recognisable.

Erik turned red with fury.

It was Blondie. The fucking bastard.

* * *

 **Some time later**

After some quality time spent in Padma's comforting arms and listening to her Molly-esque 'there, there,' croons, Hermione wiped her eyes and sat up, asking Erik to show Padma the photos.

Erik jerked his hand away. 'Uh' –

'Let her see them, please.' Hermione's voice was soft, but steely.

Confused, Padma took the photos from Erik, who climbed onto the bed and wrapped a warm, comforting arm around Hermione. Padma's dark, expressive eyes widened in shock as she took in the contents of each photo, flicking through each one faster and faster until she came to the one with the male's face turned away, his signature hair on full display. She raised a shaking hand to her mouth and raised fearful eyes to her friend.

'I-is that...?'

'Blondie, the fucker,' Erik growled.

'I can't believe it!' was what Padma started to say, until she remembered what a man-whore Malfoy was from Fifth to Seventh Year (she received a lurid description of his 'assets' from Parvati after her romp with him, and was rather distracted to realise that her sister wasn't exaggerating, as she initially surmised).

But then, he and Hermione got back together!

Even after that massive blow-out in the Great Hall when it became known that Malfoy was doing everything but shag the daylights out of Ginny Weasley.

But then, he and Hermione got back together!

Oh, who was she kidding? Padma thought in despair. Malfoy was a bad, bad boy.

'Does Blondie have a brother?' Erik asked carefully.

'No,' Hermione muttered. 'He's unique.'

Erik collected the photos from Padma and flicked through them. 'His face isn't in any of them,' he said thoughtfully.

'It doesn't matter!' Hermione sniffled. 'He has a scar on his right leg above the knee from a Quidditch accident in Fifth Year. He decided to go and get drunk at an after-match party instead of going to the Infirmary, so it didn't heal quite right. It _is_ Draco. No doubt about it.'

Padma and Erik bent their heads over the photos again. Yup. There it was. In nearly every picture.

'Do you know the whore?' Erik asked.

'Erik!' Padma admonished.

'Sorry. Do you know the bitch?' he amended.

'No,' Hermione dully replied, then looked at Padma. 'You?'

Padma shook her head. 'Although her hair reminds me of yours, a little.'

Hermione grimaced and ran her fingers through her sleep-dishevelled curls. Then she raised her wand. 'I'm gonna cut it all off!'

'NO!'

Padma and Erik dove on top of the poor girl. Padma managed to cover Hermione's mouth so that no spells could be uttered, and Erik dodged her kicking legs and alleviated her of her wand.

'It's not fair!' Hermione wailed (after Padma let up), tears coursing down her cheeks again. 'Why did he do this?'

Padma hugged her again, while Erik retreated to the relative safety of logic. He scrutinised the photos again, trying hard not to look at Blondie's tackle, now he knew who it belonged to.

Being a sexually active bloke, and having taken both witch and wizard out for a spin, Erik knew his preferred _modus operandi_ between the sheets wasn't to lie there like a tall, white log and not move a muscle while his partner did all the work for them.

Even Blondie's hands and arms lay immobile on the bed. Like he was dead.

Erik's heart stopped for a second, until he remembered the final 'money shot' photo. As a trainee Healer, he had a pretty good idea that the dead can't ejaculate. Especially with so much... _vigour._

Even so...

'Stop ogling Malfoy's cock,' Padma snapped at him.

Erik's cheeks turned red.

He sighed and turned to Hermione. 'Vat do you vant to do about this? I am more than happy to go to Hogvarts and beat the living crap out of him, if you like.'

'I want to get away from here,' Hermione whispered.

'Why?' Padma asked, confused.

'Is it the bullying?' Erik asked with a warning tone to his voice.

'It-it's Norris.' Hermione's lip wobbled again, but she held it together and slowly told Padma and Erik what Norris had been doing to her.

* * *

This time, it was Erik's turn to be restrained and his wand removed for safekeeping. After listening to Hermione's story, he saw nothing but red and had only one goal in mind – to roast Nathan Norris on a revolving spit over an open fire. Therefore, he was little peeved to find himself bound up and immobile on the floor of Hermione's bedroom, and let his feelings on the subject be known, loudly and at length.

'You said you were going to kill Norris!' Padma snapped when he ran out of air.

'I didn't mean it,' Erik mumbled. However, if he had been able to cross his fingers, he would have. Norris would have a limited number of hours left on this planet, if he had anything to do with it.

'We need to think logically,' Padma reasoned. 'And if murder happens to be the most logical course of action in the end, then by all means, have at him. But in the meantime, I have some suggestions.'

Hermione perked up a little. It was tiring, always coming up with the answers all the time.

* * *

 **Office of the Head of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries**

 **A couple of hours later**

Head of Hospital Marigold Shadowsoul raised her iron-grey-haired head from the Pensieve that stood on a delicately-wrought stand, as did the Hospital's diminutive Head of Academic Studies. She walked grimly back to her desk, where three trainee Healers sat – two young women, and a tall Viking of a young wizard who looked like he'd rather be doing something else, somewhere else.

Marigold sat down, folded her hands and regarded the trio. 'Miss Granger,' she began, 'as I understand, your companions are your, er, support personnel...' (Padma nodded and Erik ground his teeth) 'therefore I will speak freely in their presence. I am most sorry that such reprehensible behaviour has been happening in this hospital and that you have been suffering most egregiously from it. Here at St Mungo's, we strive to provide a fascinating but safe learning environment, and the actions of Chief Healer Norris towards you are absolutely unacceptable. Isn't that right, Darius?'

Darius Barkridge, a mouse of man in the inestimable Marigold Shadowsoul's presence, jumped when his name was broadcast, but nodded fervently in agreement. 'Oh, yes. Absolutely.'

Erik stared at him curiously, trying to figure out how men so small and mousy managed to survive in this Cerberus-eat-Cerberus world. Not to mention get a job so high up the ladder at this prestigious hospital.

Marigold nodded, and added reluctantly 'We have heard rumours of Mr Norris's behaviour in the past, but no-one had the courage to inform us officially – and willingly provide evidence – until today.'

Erik tried to get off his chair and head for the door, but Padma had a firm hold on his shirt collar.

At Marigold and Darius's startled stares, Padma explained 'Erik believes that violence is the best solution to this problem.'

'Violence solved plenty of problems at Durmstrang,' Erik muttered as he slumped back in his chair.

'Er... quite,' Marigold replied doubtfully. 'Young man, acts of violence at this hospital are punishable by expulsion from Healer training, so it would behove you to heed your friend's advice.'

Erik ignored the superior look Padma shot him.

'Now, Miss Granger,' Marigold said, facing the wan, tired girl. 'Based on the evidence you have provided us so courageously, I can assure you that Mr Norris will shortly be both unemployed and speaking to the Aurors, if, of course, you wish to speak to them yourself.'

'He'll be gone by lunchtime!' Darius piped up.

'Uh... sure,' Hermione replied.

'Which means that you are free to continue your studies in Curse Alleviation' –

Hermione winced. Norris may be gone, but the bullies will never give her a minute of peace.

'Or' – Marigold picked up a letter from her desk and peered at it over her horn-rimmed glasses. 'The University has been advised of a trainee Healer recently resigning from their rotation – they couldn't stomach the types of injuries presented at this outfit's Infirmary – and they've asked us if there was a student who wouldn't mind taking their place. Have a look and see what you think.'

Hermione took the letter from the regal Head and read it. In no time at all, her expression cleared and her cheeks pinkened with life. 'I would love to take up this opportunity, Madam,' she beamed. 'As soon as possible!'

'Well, then!' Marigold nodded at Darius, who whipped his quill and parchment out. 'I'll leave you in Darius's capable hands. And, Miss Granger, I hope to see you back at St Mungo's one day, continuing your excellent work.'

'Thank you, Madam!' Hermione said gratefully. The other two echoed her and headed out of her office.

'Now, Darius,' Marigold said briskly, getting up from her desk and moving to her gilt mirror, 'given the short notice, I think I'll take over Norris's classes while you find a replacement.'

Darius approved of this idea wholeheartedly.

Checking her reflection, Marigold asked Darius 'Those students haven't been very nice to Miss Granger, have they?'

Darius, like Marigold, had witnessed their antics through Hermione's memories. 'No, Madam, they haven't.'

'Hmm.' Marigold pointed her wand at herself, and she was instantly clad in Healer's robes. 'I think my persona should be... 'easily enraged dragon.' What do you think?'

Darius kept his smirk to himself. Those students were going to be begging to resign from the course come tea-time. 'I think that's an excellent idea, Madam.'

* * *

'Where are you going?' Padma asked curiously. Smiling, Hermione showed her the letter. Erik read over Padma's shoulder (from a height).

Their reactions were mixed.

'That's awesome!' Padma exclaimed, hugging her. 'You'll be so happy there!'

'Very far away,' Erik sniffed.

Hermione hugged her friends. 'This is exactly what I need,' she said. 'To be in a place where I can hear myself think. About Draco, for example.' Her eyes shuttered.

'Maybe you should speak to him about the pictures?' Erik suggested gently.

Hermione swallowed. 'Yes, but I can't now,' she said darkly. 'It's just – it's too raw.'

Erik and Padma nodded in understanding. Draco will just have to stew in his own juices for a while.

* * *

 **Another country**

 **Later that day**

Hermione stood on the nearly-empty train platform, hidden from Muggle eyes by misty confusion. Her ride was late, but she wasn't worried. Standing by her trunk, alone with her thoughts, breathing in cold air that smelled of wet soil, dew and the lingering smoke from the train, she knew she had made the right decision.

Yet she felt a pang of guilt for leaving St Mungo's without telling Draco. She wasn't blind; she could see that something was off about the pictures and the taunting note, but the sight of the man she loved being so intimate with someone else... that was going to take some time and a hell of a lot of Firewhisky to get over. And she couldn't even trust her voice to say the right words if she faced him now.

If she had to leave Draco, she would. She would _not_ be anyone's doormat. Even his.

But right now, she didn't have the strength to face him. Let alone tell him to get stuffed.

Tears pricked at her eyes. Again.

'Shit, shit, shit! So sorry I'm late, love! It's utter madness at work, I tell you!'

Turning around, she smiled joyfully at the dishevelled man loping towards her with a grin on his slightly dirty face.

'Charlie!' she cried, laughing as he picked her up and twirled her around and around before hugging her tight.

* * *

 **Dingy Muggle** **motel behind the p** **ub in Romania**

 **Around the same time**

Ron lay in bed, flicking through the photos Pansy gave him with minimal interest. Naked Draco Malfoy wasn't something got his interest rising. Although the chick Pansy Polyjuiced had some nice tits.

'Who's the bird?' he asked.

Pansy looked up from playing 'chase the dragon's tail' as the tattoo on Ron's body skittered away from her. 'She's a distant cousin from America, due to start at Hogwarts when her parents transferred to England this term. She was quite happy to have a few weeks' holiday in the Bahamas with her much older boyfriend that her parents disapprove of.'

Ron returned to the last the photo, the one where Malfoy spurted over the girl's face. Her look of malicious bliss was pure Pansy.

His cock stirred again. He missed their fucking while Pansy was off being a Hogwarts student for all those weeks. None of the Muggle girls tolerated his roughness, so he had to hold himself back. He pounced on her almost the second she walked through the door of the crappy room. Not that she complained. Weeks of celibacy had made her rather wild, too.

And now, their treacherous plan was falling into shape.

There was nothing like the impending approach of revenge to get him harder than a slab of concrete.

He stripped the thin bedsheet off their bodies and pushed Pansy's head to his groin. He sighed softly and looked up and the fly-spotted ceiling as she took him in her mouth.

He was becoming addicted to this crazy bitch.

Not a good thing.

* * *

 **St Mungo's Halls of Residence**

 **Around the same time**

Draco Malfoy, outwardly spic and span and inwardly on the verge of a mental meltdown, finally Flooed into the Residence Hall where Hermione lived. He was practically shaking with and impotent rage and fear. The rage was because Snape made him stay at Hogwarts, searching for Pansy, giving statements to the Aurors and even teaching two fucking classes before Snape imperiously told him he could have the rest of the day off.

As for his fear - Draco was in no doubt that Hermione received a copy of those revolting pictures. And her silence was ringing alarm bells in his head. Big clangers. Why hadn't she blown her stack and sent him Howler after Howler, at the very least?

This was not a good sign.

Still in his teaching robes, he leapt out of the Floo and grabbed the arm of the first person he came across. And, oh happy coincidence, that arm belonged to the body of Erik Lajos.

Erik turned around, and his eyes lit up with recognition. But before Draco could get a single word out, he found himself shoved against a wall, rather high off the ground, with a large Scandinavian hand wrapped none-too-gently around this throat.

'Hermione got the photos, then?' Draco wheezed.

Red fire danced in Erik's eyes. 'Say goodbye to your genitals, Blondie,' he growled, before he was tapped on the arm by an annoyed Padma Patil.

'What did I tell you about violence, Erik?' she demanded hotly. 'Or do you want to be expelled?'

With great reluctance, Erik opened his hand, and Draco slumped down the wall before putting his two feet on the ground again. 'Thanks, Padma,' he gasped, massaging his throat.

'I only stopped him to prevent him from being expelled,' she growled. 'You can go to Hades for all I care.'

'Okay,' Draco acknowledged, 'fair enough. I know that on appearances, it looks bad. But I _swear_ to the gods I had nothing to do with it. Pansy Parkinson drugged me, and, well, presumably you've seen the result.'

'Parkinson?' Padma explained in disgust. 'That bitch.'

'Who is Parkinson?' Erik asked.

'Look, I'd love to stay and chat,' Draco said, 'but I need to see Hermione and explain everything. Can you tell me where she is?'

Padma and Erik exchanged glances, then looked at Draco. He did not like the look on their faces. His heart was beginning to physically hurt by now, practically flinging itself against his ribcage in impotent anger.

'What?' he snapped. 'What happened?'

More telegraphing between Padma and Erik.

Finally, Padma said 'Hermione transferred to another rotation outside St Mungo's earlier today.'

'Well then, give me the address!' Draco snapped. He didn't know how much more he could take.

This time Erik spoke, with his massive arms folded in front of his chest. 'No.'

'NO?'

'She doesn't want to see or talk to you right now,' Padma added. 'She's incredibly upset.'

'I know she is!' Draco shouted in frustration. The Malfoy manners were crumbling. 'That's why I need to explain' –

'No!' Erik repeated.

'You need to wait until she contacts you, Malfoy,' Padma explained, rather worried about the ruddiness of his complexion. 'This isn't something you can influence right now.'

'This is fucking HORSESHIT!' Draco raged, swiping at an innocent pot plant standing on a side table nearby. It didn't fall, so he grabbed the plant by its stems and hurled it, pot and all, across the room. It made a lovely mess.

Padma got out her wand and signalled for emergency assistance, while Erik watched Draco's tantrum with revolted fascination.

It took two Orderlies, plus Erik and some wandwork from Padma to get Draco subdued enough to be transported to the Hospital. Once there, he was given sedatives and had his vital organs scanned by the duty Healer as Padma stood by Draco's gurney, watching and learning.

Erik went to the pub.

* * *

 **A few hours later**

 **St Mungo's**

Draco fought to open his eyes. Wonderful. He'd been drugged twice in two days!

His grizzling and shuffling got Padma's attention, who was seated next to his bed, reading a Healer's textbook. 'How do you feel?' she asked.

'Like a train rain over me,' he muttered. 'Why am I here?'

'Well, you went on a rampage in the Hall of Residence, and the Emergency Healer thinks you've been under a lot of strain – and that you're not very good at handling it.'

Draco had a think. 'I've never felt so helpless before,' he whispered. 'I can't lose Hermione again. She's my entire world. If she left me' – he turned his head away and rubbed his eyes with his fingers.

Padma was immensely touched. Hermione's so lucky to have a bloke love her the way Malfoy does, she thought. Even if it _is_ Malfoy, of all people.

'Erik and I promised Hermione we wouldn't tell you where she is,' she began. 'But if you want to write her a letter, explaining what happened, I promise I'll make sure it gets to her. But other than that, you have to wait for her to contact you, Malfoy. You need to be patient.'

'I've never needed patience before. Malfoys get what they want, when they want.' It was an arrogant statement, but it was issued in a very quiet voice.

Padma patted his arm. 'Start learning.'


	48. Chapter 48

**A/N: I live! I am in a writable state! Of course, I'm strapped up like an endurance athelete, but that's enough about me... how are you, dear readers? I thought of you always xx**

 **This is a smallish chapter, but I'm just dipping my toe back into the water, so to speak. Please enjoy.**

* * *

 **Dingy Muggle Motel room behind the pub, Romania**

 **Next morning, 6.00am**

Ron and Pansy, unusually, both fell asleep in the revolting room. And as a result, Ron was running late for work. Currently, he was shivering in the mould-saturated bathroom, expressing his disgust at both the unsanitary decor and the lateness of the hour.

Pansy, however, being a witch of both leisure and means, didn't need to rush. She sat on the edge of the bed in her expensive underwear, making some repairs to her stockings with her wand as Ron stomped out of the bathroom with wet hair, water droplets snaking down his naked back to meet his jeans.

He was in the midst of summoning his remaining clothing and boots when Pansy murmured 'Still holding a lit wand for that vapid blonde Gryffindor?'

Ron's hands, which were tugging on his boots, stilled. 'Which vapid, blonde Gryffindor are you referring to?' he asked in a light tone that Pansy knew was a red, red flag.

She smiled inside.

'Lavender Whats-her-name. Nott, is it?'

But Ron was too busy to nibble at her bait this morning. 'What's the point of this conversation?' He picked up his heavy jacket and shrugged it on.

'You called out her name in your sleep.'

Ron slowed for a fraction of a second before zipping his jacket up. Then he grabbed his wand and left the room without giving Pansy a second glance.

She smirked and continued her darning.

* * *

 **Dragon Sanctuary**

 **Around 6.30am**

It was dark by the time Hermione and Charlie arrived at the Sanctuary last night, so she didn't get to see much of the place aside from the entranceway, the administration area and the staff quarters, which either formed part of, snaked around or hung off an ancient and enormous oak tree.

Her first night in the new digs was unexpectedly nice. Her room was warm and cosy and oaky and offered a view of the surrounding forest (not that she could see much then). But unfortunately, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop her brain from trying to analyse the impossible.

 _You've been neglecting Draco,_ her brain scolded. _Trying to keep your douchebag of a professor out of his orbit._

 _Also, he likes sex. Loves sex. LOVES SEX!_

 _He attracts women like magnets. God, he's attractive for an arrogant git..._

Oh, that's just a facade, Hermione interjected. I know him better.

 _True. Remember how gentle he is when you two make love? How he looks into your eyes when he whispers 'I love you?'_

Yes...

Hermione gulped some tears away.

But – he also did that before I and the entire school found out about him and Ginny!

 _WHICH he explained. You thought he cheated on you, but he hadn't._

No, but he kept a massive secret from me! And has he cheated on me now?

Her brain sensed that they were treading down a dark path and tried another tack. Logic.

 _Who is the girl?_

 _Did she send the photos? Either she did. Or Draco did._

If she did, Hermione mused, how did she know about me and where I lived? Which leaves...

 _Do you seriously think Draco would send you evidence of him cheating on you if he cheated on you?_

Okay, I admit I credit him with more intelligence than that. Maybe he told her. Just casual conversation.

Silence.

Then it was Hermione's turn to start.

How can a teenager of no more than seventeen, at a guess, have such an advanced sexual repertoire?

 _Well, look at Draco._

True. Is it a Slytherin thing? Blaise is pretty skilled at –

 _Do not think about Blaise._

Well, speaking of looking at Draco... he's just _lying_ there in the photos. He's never passive when it comes to sex. But there's no way he could have slept through sex _that_ rigorous. Was he drugged? Can a man get an erection and ejaculate under sedation?

Her brain sighed and gave up.

* * *

After a couple of false starts, Hermione found her way to the staff dining room, a vast circular space which was nearly empty, save for a couple of men seated at a table, pointing at the paperwork between them. One of them was Charlie, who seemed to feel her presence when she walked inside.

'Hi!' Smiling, Charlie stood up and beckoned her over to the table. 'You're up early!'

She trudged her way over, clutching a cup of coffee. 'Restless night,' she admitted.

Charlie frowned. 'Is there a problem with your room? Do you want to try another one that's not so high up? Or doesn't get the sunrise?'

'No, Charlie, don't fuss!' Hermione gave his arm a playful shove. 'You'd better watch out, or you'll turn into your mother!'

An indignant retort rushed to Charlie's lips, but when he caught the amused glance of the man sitting across the table from him, he blushed and said 'Hermione, I'd like you to meet Euan MacDonald, our Healer.'

MacDonald, a tall, lanky Scottish wizard with cropped brown hair, kind blue eyes and enormous hipster beard stood up and offered his hand. 'I take it ye either know each other weel, or ye two had an epic induction session las' nigh'.'

Hermione turned red. What a start to this internship! Fresh from leaving St Mungo's under a cloud, only to have another one forming directly overhead – just by entering the dining room and exchanging a few words with Charlie!

But Charlie laughed easily. 'We've known each other for five years or so,' he said. 'She and my family go way back' –

'Sorry I'm late!'

A tall, muscular redhead burst through the door, making a beeline for the coffee. 'I'll just grab a coffee and be away' –

Oh.

He pulled up. There was a stranger in the dining room.

Wait.

She wasn't a stranger at all.

Hermione Jean Granger slowly rose to her feet, looking at him like she'd seen a ghost.

Likewise, the blood drained from Ron Weasley's face, his arm still comically outstretched towards a cup.

* * *

Shamefaced, Charlie leapt up from his chair, torn between supporting Hermione or going to Ron. How in Merlin's bedevilled name could he forget that Ron and Hermione hadn't seen each other since the time Ron tried to KILL HER BOYFRIEND –

Oh, shit upon a massive ton of bricks!

How did he forget, indeed?

Because he was too damn excited about Hermione's sudden but very welcome arrival, that's how.

He and his hormones; fuck them all!

Healer MacDonald was not oblivious to the epic change of atmosphere. He stood up and reached out a hand to Hermione.

'Ermione, would ye care tae take a wee look at our' –

Startled, Hermione jumped and lurched backwards, knocking her chair over. Then she whirled around and stumbled out of the door.

...'facilities?' Euan finished lamely.

'Hermione!'

Her name was called out in desperate concern from two men in unison, both similar in appearance, down to the identical expressions on their faces.

But she had gone.

After staring at the swinging door in disbelief, Ron rounded on Charlie. 'What the hell is she doing here?' he demanded. He ran a shaky hand through his damp hair.

'She's the new trainee Healer,' Charlie muttered, already weaving his way through to the tables to follow her.

'Well, thanks for bloody letting me know!' Ron snapped. 'A little notice wouldn't have gone amiss.'

Charlie stopped and glared at Ron. 'Look, if you don't mind, Ronald, I have a very upset staff member who takes precedence right now,' he snapped. 'You can bite my head off when you've finished your shift, all right?'

Ron deflated. 'Sorry, Charlie,' he murmured. 'It – it was just a surprise to see her. But a lovely surprise, yeah? I've really missed my friends – my former friends – from back home. There's so much I want to tell her.' Eyes cast down, he poured himself a cup of coffee with hands that still shook.

Charlie relented. 'I'm sorry too, mate,' he admitted. 'I should have warned you, but it literally all happened yesterday' –

'No worries.' Ron smiled crookedly. 'Maybe when I get back from my shift, she might consider seeing me. With you or Healer MacDonald as a chaperone?'

Charlie smiled. Ron's come so far in a few short months! 'Here's hoping, eh?'

With that, he headed off in search of Hermione.

Euan gathered up the papers on his table, his face expressionless.

* * *

Merlin knows how Charlie found Hermione, because she had no idea where she was. but wherever it was had a vast, curved window that overlooked the Romanian forest that spread itself like a darkened emerald carpet up to the nearby mountains – where many of the Sanctuary's dragons resided. The sun was still struggling to make it over the peaks, but hopeful rays of light worked their way through crevasses and valleys and the like. It was beautiful.

Just the thing to look at while she got her erratic heartbeat and shaking body under control.

Of course Ron was here! He wasn't allowed to go back home until his parents gave permission.

And it's no surprise that he's changed so much in these months. His hair was longer. Stubble crept along his jaw and upper lip, and his eyes burst with colour, like hardened chips of frozen sky. He's trim, and toned, and muscled – with tattoos? Crikey. He almost looked like a stranger.

A hot stranger.

Except he wasn't a stranger.

She'd known him since they were eleven years old.

And he nearly killed Draco.

An ugly knot formed in her stomach.

Was this really a good place to be?

* * *

'Hermione?'

She looked over her shoulder at the soft greeting. Charlie stood a few feet away, sheathing the wand he'd used to locate her. His face was streaked with worry and guilt.

She managed a wobbly smile. 'Sorry for running out. I' –

'No, I'm sorry.' Charlie joined her at the window. 'I can't believe I forgot what happened only nine months ago. Of course you'd be shocked and upset to see the bloke who nearly killed your boyfriend suddenly waltz into the dining room.'

Hermione gazed out of the window. 'I forgot, as well,' she admitted. 'I completely forgot that he worked here. Which scares the hell out of me. I don't forget things.'

Charlie swallowed and sternly forbade his hand from brushing her cheek.

'Do you want to talk to the University about another transfer?' he croaked, resisting the urge to childishly cross his fingers behind his back.

Hermione turned to face him, her eyes full of doubt. 'Do you think I'll be in danger?' she asked.

Charlie shook his head. 'I admit the first few months with him were hell, but he's made massive strides in his attitude and work ethic since then. He's diligent now, and pleasant, and not as self-centred as he used to be.' He took a breath. 'He'd like to see you later on,' he added. 'He offered myself or Euan as a chaperone if that would be easier for you.'

Hermione's eyebrow arched. 'He offered?'

Charlie smiled. 'He really has come a long way.'

Hermione looked at her shoes, then nodded. 'I don't want to run away again,' she admitted. 'And I trust your judgement. I'll do my best to give him the benefit of the doubt.'

Charlie nodded, but her other words caught his attention. Stepping closer, he quietly asked 'What else have you run away from, love?'

She tried to take a steadying breath, but it didn't work. Her treacherous lower lip began to wobble and tears blurred her vision.

Charlie drew her into his comforting embrace, and let her cry on his shoulder in silence.

It won't be about the bloody boyfriend, he told himself, breathing in the smell of her freshly-washed hair.

And repeated it for good measure.

* * *

 **Dragon Sanctuary: Infirmary**

...'And here's our potions lab,' Euan finished as he showed Hermione around the selection of rooms the tree allocated for the hospital: Admissions, Treatment, Surgery, Post-Op, Outpatients and Dispensary. 'Since we're a bit isolated from the major potion-producin' regions of Wizarding England, France and Norway, we make sure we 'ave enough ingredients tae make our own cures.'

Hermione restrained herself from clapping her hands together in glee. 'I loved Potions in school!'

'Guid to 'ear it!' Euan smiled.

Hermione furrowed her brow. 'So, what happened to your previous intern, if I may ask?'

A corner of Euan's mouth quirked behind his large, symmetrical beard. 'Ah. Turned oot, he wasna' too fond of 'aving to patch up a dragon handler that'd been accidentally disembowelled by an Antipodean Opaleye.'

Hermione stared. ''Accidentally'?'

Euan grinned. 'They're the least aggressive dragon we 'ave on site.' Then he sobered. 'So, 'ow d'ye think you'll do with a disembowelled patient?'

Hermione's back straightened. 'Well, first, I'd lay them on their back and bend their legs. I'd cover the wound and, er, bits, with a damp cloth and'–

Euan chuckled. 'Tha's fine, lass,' he said. 'I don' doubt your knowledge. I was wonderin' 'ow you'll cope with a traumatic injury.'

Hermione set her jaw. 'I've managed before, Sir.'

Euan slowly nodded, but refrained from asking about it. There was a glint to her eyes that pulled him up.

In the uncomfortable silence that followed, Euan cleared his throat and murmured 'Look, lass, if ye feel like ye want te chat, or get somethin' off yer shoulders' –

Hermione blushed. 'Thank you, Sir. I'll bear it in mind.'

He smiled and said 'Ye can call me Euan.'

She giggled. 'Okay.'

Euan leaned against one of the lab tables. 'Particularly aboot Ron,' he said. 'Okay?'

Hermione looked into his kind eyes and nodded.


	49. Chapter 49

**A/N: Hi Readers! Yup, I've got another chapter for you. It's even smaller than ch 48, but that's partly because where I ended is a logical place to stop; but also I don't want to make my poor arms hate me again.**

 **The mood of this chapter is: malevolent. Lots of treachery. Plot-heavy.**

* * *

 **Dragon Sanctuary**

 **Evening**

Hermione triple-checked her hair in her bedroom mirror – naturally, it looked the same as it did the time she checked before, and the time before that. She perused her lips; added another layer of gloss – then wiped it angrily off.

'Stop wasting time!' she muttered angrily to herself.

 _Nothing's going to happen._

So why did she feel like a traitor to Draco for agreeing to meet with Ron?

 _Draco..._

She put a firm lid on the 'Draco' box and shoved it to the corner of her mind.

Let's just get this meeting with Ron over with, first.

Therefore, she was the last of the relevant parties to present at Charlie's spacious (for a large tree) quarters (as befitting his seniority). When she tentatively knocked on his door and peered inside, Charlie leapt to his feet to let her in. Ron also leapt to his feet – but with a look from Charlie, he sat down again, on a battered old chair that may have once belonged to the Weasley's living room a hundred or more years ago.

Hermione perched primly on the edge of Charlie's sofa; her hands on her knees, but her wand wasn't far away. She watched her former friend intently, but impassively.

Ron glanced at Charlie, who shrugged and nodded at him to get on with it.

He cleared his throat nervously. 'Hey, Hermione,' he said softly. 'You look really lovely. You've changed so much in such a short time.'

It would have been churlish to refuse to answer, so Hermione nodded shortly. 'You too,' she said dully. 'You're almost unrecognisable from the boy I was friends with at school. But physical changes really mean nothing. It's what's inside that counts.'

Ron nodded earnestly. 'You're right. And I want you to know that I've changed inside. I really have.'

Hermione sighed and stood up. 'If I had a sickle for every time I heard that from you at school' –

'I was an evil bastard during my last year at school.'

She slowly turned and stared at him.

His face was wretched. 'I can see that now, and I'm ashamed of myself and what I did.' He swallowed hard and clenched his hands together. 'I was wrong, in every sense of the word, to cast the killing curse at Malfoy. It makes me feel sick to even think about it now!'

And true, Ron's face did have a slightly green sheen, among the green-hued accents of Charlie's living room decor.

'And you and Harry helped save him,' he whispered. 'Thank Merlin for you two.'

Hermione, despite herself, felt drawn to this mature, understated Ron Weasley. She'd heard a number of his speeches over the years she's known him; but none like this.

Ron looked up at Hermione, his gaze fearful. 'I don't have any right to ask you to forgive me,' he croaked. 'I did horrendous things. But... if, one day, long into the future, you might find a place in your life for me again – no matter how small – I'll take it, and be eternally thankful.'

Done, he ran his hands through his long red hair, rested his elbows on his knees, and stared at the floor.

Hermione slowly sat back down, unsure. It wasn't going to be as easy to brush him off as she'd secretly hoped.

He sounded sincere.

Charlie vouched for his change.

They had to work together for the next few weeks.

And when she looked at him, sitting slumped on the wheezing chair, the traces of the boy she'd grown up with still showed through.

She felt a pang in her heart.

'Thank you, Ron, for your words,' she whispered. 'But I still need to see evidence that your actions meet your sentiments. I will observe you over the time I'm interning here, and that will help me decide if we' – she swallowed – 'can be... can be friends again.'

Ron raised his head, hope in his eyes. 'That's more than I could ever hope to ask,' he said fervently. 'Thank you.'

Glancing at Charlie, Hermione stood once more. 'Please excuse me,' she murmured. 'Healer MacDonald has set some reading...'

'Of course.' Charlie stood up and opened the door for her.

On the threshold, Hermione bit her lip. 'You definitely vouch for him?'

He smiled. 'On my oath as a dragon tamer.'

Hermione nodded slowly, then walked away.

Charlie closed the door and poured a couple of drinks. 'That went really well,' he said happily, ruffling Ron's hair. 'What do you think?'

Ron gave him a watery smile. 'It was so hard to see her,' he said softly. 'She's a symbol of everything I threw away.'

Charlie clinked glasses with Ron. 'And now you're on your way back to getting them!'

'I'll drink to that!' Ron grinned, and so they did.

* * *

 **Hogwart's School of Wizardry and Witchcraft**

 **Astronomy Tower**

 **Evening**

It was bloody cold up in the Astronomy Tower, but Draco barely felt it. He missed Hermione with an ache that gnawed at him every single minute of the day and night. He was _trying_ to be patient. Padma made him promise when he was discharged from St Mungo's, lest she break out the big guns and force him into an Unbreakable Vow.

He wrote a letter and gave it to Padma (he didn't trust that Scandinavian oaf as far as he could throw him). It was one of the hardest letters he'd ever written in his life. There was so much he wanted to say – he felt it almost bursting out of him – but when it came to putting quill to parchment, the words struggled out, limp and worthless and blotchy.

He _needed_ to see her. To explain in person.

In the end, all he came up with was:

 _My love,_

 _those revolting pictures were staged. The 'student' was Pansy Parkinson. I have no idea what she's plotting, but I'm scared for you. Please, please, be on your lookout and trust your instincts._

 _I was not a willing participant, love. There is no way, after knowing you so intimately, that I'd ever be with anyone else. This I vow._

 _Please contact me. I have to talk to you in person._

 _I love you._

 _Always,_

 _D._

Now all there was to do was wait.

Draco leaned over the barrier and watched the sluggish Black Lake slither through the valley.

Fuck, he hated waiting!

His pocket vibrated.

Galvanised, Draco pushed his robes aside and extracted his phone. Maybe it was –

It wasn't Hermione.

It was a message from Troy.

 _Mate,_

 _just wanted to let you know the good news – Sage and I are back together!_

 _Yeah, I know she was a limelight-chasing skank and that I was glad to see the back of her, but ever since the BAFTAs, she's completely changed... and for the better! It's almost like she had a total personality transplant, haha._

Draco swallowed hard. He had a pretty good idea of how Sage's transformation came about.

 _She's so lovely and sweet, and really happy to see me, if you get my meaning, haha. So I'm going to pop the question to her tonight!_

 _Wish me luck! (although I'm pretty sure I won't need it!)_

 _Troy._

Draco stared at the message on his phone.

How lovely. Two lovebirds making the best commitment of their lives together.

His fingers curled around the phone.

And with a roar of rage, he hurled it over the railing as far as he could.

He turned on his heel and stalked to the stairwell, not caring to see where it landed.

* * *

 **Dragon Sanctuary**

 **Owlery**

 **Late evening**

After his performance for Hermione, Ron ambled off to the Sanctuary's small Owlery with a message.

 _P,_

 _Interesting development. Hermione is working at the Sanctuary._

 _We should meet to discuss._

 _R._

As he saw the owl off into the cold night, he noticed another owl winging its way towards the tree. Once it landed, he deftly untied the missive from the tired owl's legs and handed it some treats. The owl wolfed them down and flapped to a perch for a jolly good kip.

Disinterestedly, Ron glanced at the name on the message – and stopped.

 _Hermione Granger._

He turned the envelope over and squinted at the return address:

 _P. Patil_

 _St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_

Hmm.

He took out his wand.

 _'Incendio!'_

In a trice, Draco's letter was no more.

Ron whistled a jaunty tune as he headed to bed.

* * *

 **A/N: Blaise returns in chapter 50!**

 **Oh, dear god, it's chapter 50...**


	50. Chapter 50

**A/N: Ack! Chapter 50!**

 **WARNING: violent scene at this mark #**

 **To recap, Blaise went to Gia's parent's house and a big, long talk was had. They told him that Gia is with the Lombardi family in Pisa. She's due to marry their son. And Blaise wants to find out what's going on. As do we all...**

* * *

 **Pisa, Italy**

Armed with the knowledge that Tomaso and Giamotta Rossi had given him, Blaise promptly made his way to the bustling city of Wizarding Pisa. There, instead of storming the Lombardi's establishment like a one-man military siege battalion, he skulked up and down the street across the road in _disillusionment_ mode, watching the traffic that tramped in and out of their door.

A few hours later, his patience was rewarded. And just as well, Blaise winced. He _really_ needed to take a piss.

Giorgia stepped out of the front door, a basket looped over her arm. It looked like she was heading to the marketplace located in the disused underground train station that served as Wizarding central.

Blaise followed her, waiting for an appropriate time. Then, just as they were passing a rather dilapidated brick wall, he grabbed her by the arm and swiftly propelled her around the other side.

Stumbling, Gia opened her mouth to scream, but Blaise cut her off by wrapping his hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened in surprise, then horror, as the face of her captor became clear.

'If I move my hand away,' Blaise whispered against her ear, 'will you scream?'

She gulped, but shook her head.

'Okay.' Blaise removed his hand, but kept his wand on her. 'Gia,' he spat. 'What the bloody hell is going on?'

She leaned against the wall, taking fortifying breaths. 'I never thought I would see you again,' she whispered.

'Obviously, if you're going to be marrying someone else,' Blaise snapped.

She slumped. 'You saw the announcement,' she said in a small voice.

'Yup. Got me asking all sorts of questions, too. Like 'why did you leave me with no warning, no goodbye, no _anything_ at all and disappear, only for me to discover that when you re-enter society, it's as fiancée to Giuseppe bloody Lombardi?'

Blaise's voice was growing in strength, despite his best efforts to keep it down. He felt like a shook-up fizzy bottle, ready to pop.

Gia's eyes slid to the left. 'It's a match approved by both families...'

But Blaise was having none of that bullshit. He leaned in close to her. 'Is that a fact?' he sneered. 'So, all those times we fucked, all those times you told me you loved me, all those times you seemed genuinely, honestly happy to be in my company – are you telling me that you lied, every single time?'

She didn't reply.

'Did you lie?' he hissed angrily.

'Please, just leave me alone!' she gasped.

'Tell me!' he yelled. His temper was a few degrees away from rocketing off into the ether, so he cast disillusioning and silencing spells around himself and the shaking girl.

'Giorgia, for the love of Merlin, I swear' –

'I did not lie!' She took the words and flung them angrily in Blaise's face. 'Are you happy now?' she snapped. 'Is that what you want to hear?'

'Is it the truth?' Blaise demanded. 'Because that's all I'm interested in.'

There was a silence; then a sigh. 'Yes. It is the truth.'

Blaise tried to centre himself. 'Then why,' he asked between gritted teeth, 'did you leave me and get engaged to Lombardi?'

'I – I' – Gia wrung her hands. 'I can't say. Not here.'

'Fine,' Blaise snapped. Then, without a word of warning, he grabbed Gia by the arm and spun them around.

* * *

Stumbling from the unexpected apparition, Gia got her bearings and looked around. They were back in Lucca, in Blaise's stepdad's house. She stood in the vast, empty living area.

This place had too many memories.

She dug her fingernails into her palms in an effort to hold the tears back, and shakily walked to the large windows that commanded such a majestic view over the region.

Blaise silently appeared by her side (after having answered his urgent call of nature), holding out a generous slug of _grappa._ Avoiding his eyes, she took it and drank, feeling the liquor trickle through and warm her body.

'You owe me an explanation,' he said quietly.

She couldn't argue that. She could well imagine how hurt he must have felt when he realised she had gone; and of all her problems, that guilt weighed on her most of all.

But which of her sins should she confess?

She could feel his eyes on her.

'I don't love Giuseppe,' she said. 'But I have to marry him.'

Blaise boggled at her, then turned and slumped down on the nearest settee. 'Why?' he asked, suddenly feeling very weary. This was not turning out the way he thought it would.

Then again, could he have honestly expected Gia to run to his arms if all he's done is manhandle her, interrogate her and side-apparate her without giving notice or getting her permission?

'I just want to try to understand,' he said in a low voice.

'I'm so sorry,' she whispered, feeling absolutely wretched. 'Giuseppe is an old, dear friend. I love him very much in that way. And he needs me, to help him... with his parents.'

'What do you mean?'

Gia let out a long breath. ' _Senor e Senora_ Lombardi are very conservative. Very traditional. Giuseppe is nearly twenty-five. They think the only reason he's waited so long to get married is because he was waiting for his only love – me – to come of age. But, in fact...'

For Blaise, light dawned. 'He's gay.'

' _Si,_ ' Gia said sadly. 'All they want is to see him settled down and 'happy,' which, to them, is to have a good wife and lots of children. If they find out he's gay, it will crush them.'

Blaise looked sceptical. 'Aren't they going to wonder what's wrong when the children don't materialise?'

'There are other ways to have children,' Gia murmured. 'Muggle ways.'

Blaise gazed at the sad young lady standing by the windows, tension stiffening every limb.

'And what about you, _cara?'_ he asked softly, getting to his feet and standing behind her. 'You're a passionate witch. Can you live the rest of your life without touching a man intimately again? Without a man touching you, the way you want to be touched?'

His soft breath rustled the dark hair the tumbled over her shoulder. Goosebumps rose on her flesh, and he ached to touch her skin.

Gia angled her head slightly away. 'We agreed that if each of us were discreet...'

'You'll both take lovers.'

She nodded tersely.

Blaise's hand ghosted to the ring on her left finger. 'And this will make you happy?' he whispered in her ear.

Had he not been standing so close, he would not have heard her words.

'I don't deserve to be happy.'

* * *

The Giorgia Rossi Blaise knew before was happy, vivacious and full of life. This sad young woman was almost another person entirely. Sadness and tension wracked her face. Her body was gaunt; her hair was limp and lifeless. Even allowing for the fact that she'd signed herself up to a platonic marriage; and, yes, even allowing for her disappearing act with him – there was something else eating her up inside. Something she was plainly too scared to talk about. He could see it in her haunted eyes.

But he had to know, all the same.

He turned her around – gently this time – and grasped her shoulders. 'What else happened?' he asked gently. 'What else has transformed you from a beautiful woman, full of life and without a care in the world, to a tense, brittle shadow of her former self?'

Fear ignited in her eyes. 'I – I cannot say,' she whispered.

'You're hurting, _cara mia._ It's breaking my heart just to look at you.'

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she blinked them away. _'Mio caro,'_ she whispered, 'please, I cannot tell you.'

With an effort she shouldn't have needed, Gia wrenched herself out of his hold and strode towards the door.

'I still want to be with you!' Blaise burst out, the Slytherin side of him outraged that he's stooped to begging.

Gia stopped, but didn't turn around.

'I'll be your lover,' he clarified, 'after you're married. 'We'll be happy. I promise.'

'You'll deny yourself a proper relationship with another woman?' she ground out. 'Deny yourself children? Or were you planning to find someone who's happy to fuck you just long enough to get pregnant, then spend your money whoring herself around Europe, making you a laughingstock?' Her voice cracked, and she whirled around, tears marking her face. _'I_ deserve this fate!' she snapped, jabbing herself in her chest with her finger. 'You don't! I love you, and I won't bring you down with me! So please, Blaise, _please,_ leave me alone and forget about me!'

'I can't!' he cried out. 'I can't be without you! I've gone through hell, not knowing where you were, or what's happened to you! You look like you've been through the Veil and back! You're breaking my heart, Gia. Just tell me what the hell is wrong and I will help you!'

'I can't!' she wailed. 'Just leave me alone!'

'I will not!' Blaise snapped, storming up to her.

Frightened, Gia took a step back, her hand fumbling for her wand.

But she wasn't quick enough. With Blaise's wand in his hand, he stared into her terrified eyes and whispered _'Legilimens.'_

* * *

Blaise felt himself tumbling through time, landing in the terracotta courtyard of a secluded apartment block. Looking up and around, he spied Gia walking up the stairs, so he hastened to fall in behind her.

On the fourth floor, Gia stopped outside an apartment door. She nervously straightened a crease in her dress, and tucked a loose lock of black hair behind her ear. She was nervous; he could tell.

Then she appeared to gird up her loins and knocked on the door.

When Blaise saw who answered it, he nearly lost his shit.

* * *

Maybe he even blacked out for a moment, because the next thing he remembered was gasping for breath and blinking his eyes. Now, in accordance with Gia's memory, he was inside the apartment, watching in utter fucking disbelief while the bitch who ruined his school career and was responsible for the near-death of his best mate, brought his lover to a hard orgasm up against the bloody wall, for fuck's sake.

' _Soaking wet already, you little bitch,' Pansy said indulgently while her fingers stabbed and wriggled away at Gia's pussy. 'Is that for me, or for your boyfriend?'_

' _Y-you, only you, oh my gods,' Gia moaned, kneading hard at her breasts._

Okay. He couldn't deny that hearing those words hurt like a bitch.

He could tell Gia was going to come on this filthy bitch's fingers. He knew every sign. The expressions on her face. Each jerk and tremble of her body. He wished he could look away, but the spell had him transfixed, and all he could was watch while the girl he loved broke and wailed in ecstasy, liquid pouring down her legs and puddling on the terracotta tiles below.

He wondered if it was possible to vomit in this state. Because that's exactly what he felt like doing.

But even worse things were to come.

* * *

#

Initially, he was forced to watch the pair of cavort with each other, tonguing pussies, kneading breasts and sucking faces; feeling angry, revolted and aroused; all at the same time. With Pansy, Gia was very much the subordinate; Blaise noted. And Parkinson, of course, loved to fuck people over. Gia's arse and breasts were rosy red from the slaps Pansy doled out.

But then it changed.

The rough fucking degenerated into sexual torture in front of Blaise's horrified eyes.

Not content with bringing the blood to Gia's skin with her slaps, she made it break through, bruising and tearing at Gia's flesh with her teeth and fingers.

'STOP IT, YOU PSYCHOTIC BITCH!' Blaise screamed, but Pansy couldn't hear, of course. She continued to rent claw marks across Gia's breasts, leaving angry, bloody welts behind.

In disbelief, Blaise watched his lover's torture unfold, never having felt so pathetically useless in his life. He raged at Pansy, calling her every filthy name he knew when shackles clamped Gia's ankles and she started to choke from some unseen force pressing down on her throat.

And when Pansy violently raped Gia with her fist, his mind left him.

#

* * *

Gia's next memory was when she woke up, or roused herself from consciousness, the next day, so that's where Blaise joined her. Looking around, he could see that Pansy had already left, hot on the trail of that crazy bastard Weasley. They're welcome to each other, Blaise thought murderously.

He looked at Gia's battered body. It was hard to find any part of her that wasn't bruised or lacerated. All his rage and revulsion were gone. Yeah, so, she trapped him, thinking she was doing Pansy a favour; she even told that bitch that she preferred her to him while Pansy fucked her against the wall. These things hurt, that much was true.

But he was still certain that she loved him.

As he loved her, Salazar help him.

She got suckered in by Pansy. As he, and so many of his fellow students had.

But by Merlin's grace, she's given up her pound of flesh.

Gia read a letter; he couldn't see the contents, but when her face crumpled up, he could take a reasonable guess – a final, taunting missive from a woman whose heart and soul were blacker than Snape's greasy hair.

And when Gia stared at her broken wand, his heart broke – then melded with hers.

* * *

When Blaise wrenched himself out Gia's mind, he stumbled backwards, starting at her in shock and disbelief. Then, to his utter shame, he was violently sick.

* * *

Blaise found himself on the living room floor, leaning against one of the settees. A cooling charm had been applied to his forehead and wrists, the mess he'd made had been _scourgified_ away, and his mouth was clear of revolting bits of upchuck.

In alarm, Blaise looked around for Gia. She was still there, sitting stiffly at the other end of the settee, staring sightlessly at the panoramic view.

Blaise got to his knees and slowly shuffled towards her. 'I thought you'd be gone,' he croaked.

Gia didn't move. 'I should have,' she said tonelessly. 'But I waited to receive your punishment.'

Blaise screwed up his forehead. 'Punishment?'

Gia turned her pale, gaunt face to his. 'I lied to you! I used you to get information! I passed that information on to a hideous, horrible person to do who knows what with! I cheated on you! and then, like a coward, I ran away from you, too ashamed to look you in the eye and tell you what I'd done!'

Overcome, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

Blaise pulled himself onto the settee and sat next to her.

'Are you sorry?' he asked mildly.

'Yes!' came her muffled response. 'A thousand times over.'

'Do you still love me?'

Incredulously, she raised her tear-stained head and stared at him. 'I have never stopped!' she said passionately. 'But how could you possibly love me, after everything I've done? After everything you've seen?'

Blaise raised a hand to gently brush her cheek. 'Because that's what love does,' he said simply. 'Pansy is an expert manipulator, Gia. She's made many lives miserable. But what she did to you' – his throat closed up.

Her hand fluttered to her chest before she brought it under control.

'I believe you've atoned for your wrongdoing,' Blaise eventually continued. 'There's no need to punish yourself for the rest of your life. By marrying Giuseppe, for example.'

Startled, she looked up at him.

'Everything will be okay,' he murmured, taking her hands in his. 'I promise.'

Her face crumpled. 'Oh, Blaise...'

He leaned towards her. 'No more tears, _carissima,'_ he whispered.

She nodded, and their lips met.

* * *

As much as Blaise would have loved to have carried her up to her room to ravish her, he knew that would be a dick thing to do in her current state. Besides...

'Did she scar you?' he murmured to Gia, as she lay in his arms on the settee.

She swallowed, and he felt her body tense. Then, reluctantly, she sat up and undid the buttons of her shirt. When she pulled the material free of her arms, she faced him, staring at a point somewhere in the distance.

Blaise brought a hand to his mouth. The tracks of Pansy's vicious claw marks criss-crossed her breasts, bisecting the nipples. the scars formed deep, ugly, puckered seams. Her breasts could not be called anything but ugly.

'She broke my wand,' Gia whispered. '...And I was too ashamed afterwards' –

Blaise folded her into his embrace once more.

'I'll take you to the best healers there are,' he promised. 'If you want. But I need you to know: they mean nothing to me.'

As Gia put her shirt back on, a boiling, black rage began to build inside him.

Pansy Fucking Parkinson, he vowed to himself. Your days on this earth are numbered.

* * *

 **A/N: I'll be interested to hear your thoughts. I know Gia's not a popular character, considering what she did to Blaise. But all things (in this story, anyway) happen for a reason...**


	51. Chapter 51

**A/N: hello everyone; just a couple of adminy things:**

 **Thanks everyone for the reviews for chapter 50. Normally I reply to the ones I can reply to, but I currently have a hole in my shoulder blade from a mole removal process, which was duly stitched for a couple weeks. I got the stitches removed recently, then yesterday I managed to bust my mole hole (ha!) open again and now it's stitched it up much tighter and _very_ ouchier than before. Long, woe-is-me story short, I'm keeping shoulder movement to a minimum so I decided not to individually thank reviewers from the last chapter so I could write up this chapter instead. But collectively - thank you very much, as always.**

 **Second adminy thing: this chapter has scenes involving Blaise, Draco and Hermione, and the timings aren't quite in sync with each other. So sorry! I hope it doesn't detract from the story.**

* * *

 **(So, basically while chapter 50 was going on...)**

 **Romania**

 **Dragon Sanctuary**

Hermione soon settled in to a routine life at the Sanctuary. Since most jobs at the Sanctuary involved getting up, close and personal with some of the most hot-tempered, fiery (in both senses of the word) and easily-offended beasts the planet had to suffer, the Sanctuary's Infirmary usually saw brisk business, so she was often up to her elbows in burns paste and other unguents, remedies, charms and bits of various people's bodies. Naturally, she was a quick study and a curious learner, and Euan was very pleased with her progress.

Especially after she helped Euan treat her first disembowelling without throwing up or passing out.

'Excellen'!' he exclaimed, as Hermione charmed the gaping wound so she could knit the incision together. 'If we get an amputation in, I bet you could heal it by yourself with nae trouble at all!'

Hermione looked at him in alarm. 'Please don't go to any trouble to procure one.'

* * *

She even healed Ron.

Sheepishly, he turned up to the Infirmary holding one of his hands in a tight grip. When she moved the uninjured hand away, she saw that his thumb was very nearly severed to the base of his hand.

'Wow,' Hermione breathed, as she began to clean the wound. 'Doesn't that hurt?'

'A little,' Ron shrugged.

'How did it happen?'

'Wasn't fast enough to get out of the way when inspecting a dragon's sore fang,' he said. 'He didn't appreciate having it prodded.'

'I suppose soothing words don't help much,' Hermione joked, knitting the severed tendons and veins together with her wand.

'They didn't even work on me when a Healer tried to take a gander at my teeth,' he laughed.

Hermione eventually closed the wound and had Ron test his thumb and fingers for reflexion and dexterity. Euan wandered over, took a look at Hermione's handiwork and nodded in approval.

''Ow's it feelin'?' he asked Ron.

'Just like a new one!' he proudly replied.

'Remember to take it easy over the next twenty-four hours,' Hermione said hastily. 'And let us know at once if you experience pins and needles or loss of sensation.'

'Sure will!' Ron grinned cockily and saluted her before sauntering out of the clinic.

Euan watched him go; his face inscrutable behind his beard. ''Ow was it?' he asked Hermione.

'Fine,' she replied, tidying up. 'No complications.'

'I mean' young Weasley.'

'Oh.' Hermione's hands slowed. 'Um, he was fine. Much like he used to be.'

'Tha's guid,' Euan said a little too slowly, sitting down on a nearby stool.

Hermione looked at him closely. 'Is there something I should know?'

Euan's twinkling eyes became guarded. 'I am reminded of the Muggle sayin' 'a leopard never changes its spots.'

Hermione felt something skitter over her heart.

She gave him a hard look, repeated the same question she asked Charlie. 'Am I in any danger?'

Euan hesitated. 'When 'e first arrived 'ere, Ron was a vicious wee bastard. He was a lazy, self-entitled brat at work, and a violent, drinking, whoring bastard ootside of it. Both Charlie and I 'ave 'ad to _obliviate_ a number of poor Muggles that came into unfortunate contact with him, at least until Igor arrived an' he took over. But then 'e changed. Just like tha'.'

'What, overnight?'

'Aye, practically.'

'That's... odd.'

'But 'e's been as guid as goblin gold ever since.'

'Do you think the Auror's presence may have facilitated the change? A visual reminder of how close he was to being sent to Azkaban?'

'Nae idea.' Euan shook his head. 'Neither does Charlie, but I 'ave a feeling 'e'd rather let sleepin' dogs lie.'

Hermione smiled wanly. 'You like Muggle idioms, don't you?'

Euan grinned. 'Muggle English is a verra' expressive language.' But then he sobered. 'Even though the change was sudden, 'e's lived up to it. I havna' seen nay evidence of 'is returning to previous form. But just because I 'aven't seen anything, doesn't necessarily mean...' he trailed off.

'Yeah,' she finished quietly. She grasped Euan's hand. 'I'll be careful.'

'Aye, I think that would be best.'

Hermione smiled at him.

Euan looked around the clinic to check they were still alone. He cleared his throat, leaned forward and said 'Ah, this migh' no' be the best timin', but I was wonderin' if you were attached to anyone in particular?'

Hermione smiled again, but a little sadly. 'I'm with someone,' she said, 'but the relationship's had a bit of a setback.'

'Ah. Say no more.' Euan smiled sheepishly, got up from his stool and stretched. 'If you want tae talk, though, I'll be around.'

Impulsively, Hermione got up from her stool and hugged him. 'Thank you,' she whispered, and resolved to do something she'd been putting off.

Write to Draco.

* * *

 **Later**

 **Hermione's room**

 _Dear Draco,_

 _I'm sorry it's taken me a few days to write and let you know where I am. You've probably been worrying._

 _Even when you find out where I am, you probably won't be pleased. But you have to trust in me and accept that I can look after myself and I don't need you_ _fighting my battles for me. I promise._

 _I'm in Romania at the Dragon Sanctuary._

 _And yes, Ron is here. And Charlie. And dozens of other people you've never met._

 _All I'm going to say is that I really like it here, I'm learning lots, Charlie has been nothing but the perfect gentleman (even by your exacting standards) and Ron is – good. He's good._

 _He apologised (without prompting; that's the first time I've seen that) and he seems to be the same as he was before. Even better, possibly. He still talks with his mouth full, though. Some things will never change._

 _He's neither sought me out or avoided me. But I've been warned to be on my guard, so I'll continue to do that until I leave._

 _But now, I guess, is the time to address the photos of you and whoever the girl was._

 _What happened, Draco?_

 _I want you to tell me everything. Everything you know._

 _I know there's something strange about the pictures. You look unconscious. I know you can never sleep through sex._ _You wake up even if I just put my hand around your morning erection._

 _It's just – seeing you have sex with someone else –_

 _Please. Just tell me everything so_ _we can put it behind_ _us._

 _I'm sorry I seemed so distant at St Mungo's. A situation requiring some delicacy had arisen, and I didn't want you worrying from a distance._

 _I feel better now I'm at the Sanctuary. It really is a nice place to live in and work at._

 _I really hope things are going well at Hogwarts. Despite Snape's best efforts._

 _I miss you, Draco. Dreadfully._

 _Love,_

 _Hermione_

She felt tears prick her eyes as she sealed the parchment in an envelope.

She really did miss him.

* * *

Hermione met Ron on the way to the Owlery. He was heading that way, carrying a sheaf of orders and correspondence, and he grinned when he noticed the letter in her hand.

'I can take that to the Owlery for you, if you like,' he offered.

For a second, Hermione hesitated, but handed the letter over. 'Thanks Ron,' she smiled. 'Nice of you to save me a trip. I still get lost around here.'

Ron watched Hermione's long legs take her to the end of the corridor and disappear around a corner before he carried on to the Owlery. Once he'd despatched the various owls off to their different destinations, he leaned against an open windowsill, lit up a cigarette and held Hermione's letter up to the fading sunset light.

 _Assistant Professor D. Malfoy_

 _Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft_

 _Hogwarts Castle_

 _Scottish Highlands_

Ron's lip curled as he read the address. Wonder if the little swot's sent Malfoy a smut-filled missive or a long list of nagging complaints?

Only one way to find out.

He broke the seal and fished the letter out.

* * *

Well, that was rather bland, he thought as he set the letter on fire and sent the ashes tumbling out of the window to be caught by the wind. He wondered who was counselling Hermione to be on her guard. Surely it wasn't Charlie. Ron was certain he'd convinced Charlie that he'd returned to the flock a prodigal hero.

Still. Keeping Malfoy and Hermione apart is the name of the game, according to Pansy.

Not that he gave much of a shit either way.

* * *

 **Lucca, Italy (carrying on from where Blaise and Gia were in chapter 50)**

The rest of the day slowly passed in amicable companionship, although it was tinged with an air of... something.

Blaise asked the house elves to make themselves scarce, and they had the house to themselves. They sat outside in the mild winter sun, dangling their legs in the magically-warmed swimming pool. When the sun set, Blaise helped Gia prepare a supper from whatever they unearthed in the kitchen, and he pilfered a pricey bottle of red from his stepdad's cellar.

* * *

They also talked. Carefully; slowly.

'Do you know why Pug-Face wanted to know where Weasley was?' Blaise asked as they ate.

Gia smiled a little at the unflattering name, but she didn't know. 'At Beauxbatons, she just spoke of getting revenge against you. For dumping her, and getting her expelled.'

Blaise thought. If Pansy wanted revenge against him, why did she need Weasley?

Wasn't Pansy's revenge against Blaise her torture and mutilation of Gia's body?

Has she moved on to the next person who thwarted her Hogwarts plans, and joined forces with an attempted murderer masquerading as a ginger idiot?

What enemy did Pansy and Weasley have in common?

Ah.

Draco Malfoy.

Carefully, Blaise put his glass of wine down and kissed Gia's cheek.

'I need to make a Floo call,' he said.

* * *

 **Hogwarts**

 **Slytherin House Common Room**

It was late when Blaise Flooed in, but Draco was still up, anyway. He wished he wasn't. But he couldn't sleep, not knowing if Hermione was okay. Or where she even was. Madam Pomfrey, alarmed by his sunken eyes and pallid features, proffered him with Dreamless Sleep; nasty stuff. It sat on the coffee table next to the settee he was slumped on in the Common Room, making a ham-fisted attempt to mark papers, supplied to him courtesy of Snape.

He wasn't sure if Snape was keeping him occupied with work as a thoughtful means of keeping him busy, or whether it was just part of his usual sadistic wankery.

When the Floo whooshed into life, hope leapt into Draco's heart –

But it wasn't Hermione.

It was Blaise, looking very serious.

'Draco,' Blaise's sooty, flame-filled face said. 'We need to talk.'

* * *

What Blaise had to say shook Draco to his core. He knelt in front of the gigantic fireplace, unable to take it in, constantly running his hands agitatedly through his hair.

'How safe are you at Hogwarts?' Blaise asked.

Draco shrugged. 'The wards preventing unauthorised access have always been pretty strong, but Parkinson managed to beat them. Dumbledore, Flitwick and Snape are working on something that picks up Polyjuice, but...' he trailed off.

'What about Hermione?' Blaise asked. 'Is St Mungo's secure enough' –

He watched in bemusement as Draco's eyes snapped closed, as if he was in pain.

'What's the matter?'

What isn't the matter?' Draco cried, and filled an increasingly incredulous Blaise in.

* * *

 **Later...**

'You need to find her.' This was Blaise, stating the obvious.

Draco had already reached that conclusion.

'I'll Floo Padma once we're done,' he said grimly. 'And she'd better not stonewall me if she knows what's good for her.'

'Isn't it rather late?'

'Do you think I give a shit what fucking time it is?'

Blaise wisely let it drop.

'Well, if Hermione's in Europe, let me know. I can get to her faster than you can.'

'Thanks, mate. I owe you.' The lethargy Draco had been plagued with was now replaced with a fizzing cocktail of rage and fear. 'I'll let you know what I find out.'

'Um... what if Patil refuses to tell you?' Blaise asked delicately.

Draco looked grim. 'That's not going to be an option.'

* * *

 **Later still**

Draco had to flirt, bully, bribe and outright threaten a not insignificant number of night-owl student Healers to get Ms Padma Patil to poke her cranky face through the Floo in St Mungo's students' common room.

Number of shits Draco gave: none.

'Malfoy, what the hell is your problem?' Padma snapped, or tried to – a gigantic yawn interrupted her midway through. 'I've got a bloody exam in a few hours.'

'Padma,' Draco snapped, 'I have very credible evidence that Hermione is in big danger. I need to know where's she interning. Now.'

'Well, I'll give you fifty house points for originality,' Padma mumbled, 'but I'm going to deduct them for getting me out of fucking bed. I am not going to tell you where Hermione is, so you can take it and suck it.'

'Padma, wait!' Draco cried as Padma turned to leave.

She stilled, arrested by the clear desperation in his voice. Suspiciously, she peered at his face; or what she could, given the Floo's grainy texture. He didn't look so hot.

'All right, Malfoy,' she sighed. 'Convince me. I should tell you where Hermione is, because...?'

'Because Parkinson and Weasley could very well use her to get revenge against me,' was Draco's simple response.

* * *

 **Even later**

'Blaise?'

'Yeah, I'm here, mate. How did it go?'

'Hermione's in fucking Romania! At the bloody Dragon Sanctuary!'

'Wow.' Blaise processed this; then his blood ran cold. 'Weasley got banished there, didn't he?'

'Yes!' Draco left the Floo to pace agitatedly around the Common Room before returning. 'She's just landed on that wanker's lap like a gift from the gods! All she needs is a bloody bow around her neck!'

'Try not to worry, mate, I'll go get her.'

'Cheers, mate. Gods, I don't know what I'd do without you.'

'Get up to all sorts of mad shit, I'm sure.'

Draco half-smiled. 'I'll send an owl out to the Sanctuary to warn her, and expect your arrival.'

'Sounds good. I'll touch base when I know more, all right?'

'Yeah. Thanks, mate.'

'No worries.'

'Um, Blaise?'

'Yeah?'

'Will you be my best man? When I marry her?'

Blaise grinned. 'Only if you'll be best man at my wedding.'

'Deal.'

* * *

 **Lucca, Italy**

 **Morning after Draco and Blaise's Floo-calls**

Gia was troubled. Very troubled.

Blaise could see it written all over her beautiful face; and in the tension her body held.

* * *

He held that body last night. Except for the parts of the night that Draco interrupted. He didn't deny that his body craved her; he'd been missing and wanting her for months, but the scars on her body sobered his need.

Imagine your last sexual experience being so violent you passed out from the pain.

Well, he didn't have to. He saw it happen.

So he humbly invited her to share his bed, or he could take her back home or to the Lombardis.

He was quietly overjoyed when she shyly chose his bed.

They lay in his bed, watching the night sky view from his bedroom's large windows while he wrapped his arms around her vowed he would never let her go.

Some tears fell onto his skin; but Gia assured him they were happy ones this time.

* * *

But this morning, both washed and dressed, a very tense Gia watched Blaise get ready to travel to Romania.

Blaise watched Gia watching him.

He wasn't surprised when she suddenly burst out 'I know Hermione has to be saved! But – but I don't want that person to be you! Does that make me an awful person?'

Blaise crossed over to her and kissed her forehead. 'I know you're concerned about my safety. But I promise you I'll be fine. I want to take the least amount of time possible to find Hermione and bring her to safety so I can come back to you.'

'But why not get the Aurors to find her?'

Blaise and Draco had talked about this. 'The presence of Aurors might spook Weasley into disappearing, and he's currently the best link we have to finding Parkinson. I arouse less suspicion being on my own.'

'But that's what I'm worried about!' Gia wailed.

Blaise looked down into her fathomless eyes and said 'There is nothing on earth that will keep me away from you, Gia.'

She swallowed at the intensity of his tone.

'Furthermore,' Blaise added, 'when I come back, I'm going to ask you to marry me. I'll ask for your hand from your father; whatever it takes. Because this is how much I love you.'

Gia threw her arms around Blaise's waist and sobbed. _'Ti amo, ti amo, ti amo.'_

Blaise smiled, and kissed her wet lips. 'Wait for me, soon-to-be _Senora_ Zabini.'

She kissed him back with love and sadness. 'I will.'


	52. Chapter 52

**A/N: warning: start of a oral sex scene at the end of the chapter**

* * *

 **Hogwarts Castle**

 **Slytherin House**

In Draco's small room, he slapped a blank parchment on his desk and agitatedly grabbed his quill.

 _Hermione, my heart,_

 _I know I only recently sent you a letter via Padma and I should wait for you to reply, but I have to let you know you're in serious, serious danger right now._

 _Blaise managed to find Gia, and you won't believe what happened. Pansy Parkinson convinced Gia, while they were at Beauxbatons, to use Blaise to find out where Ron Weasley is, so she can craft a revenge plan against me and Blaise. She disfigured Gia terribly to get back at Blaise, love. He won't say much, but he's terrified for her, and I'm terrified for you._

 _We're certain that Pansy and Ron are planning to do something to get back at me. My love, the worst thing they could do to me is do something to you. Your transfer to the Sanctuary couldn't have worked out better if they tried._

 _I still don't know what you think of me right now; but even if you hate my guts, please heed my advice._

 _You have to leave._ _Get away as far as you can without letting Weasley know. Don't be a hero and confront him. You'll become a martyr. You know the lengths Parkinson took to set me up. I don't want to even consider what they could do to you._

 _Blaise is on his way to help you. Together you can work out a plan that will get you somewhere safe._

 _You are the best thing in my life, love. If anything happened to you, I –_

Draco couldn't finish that sentence.

 _I love you._

 _D._

He forced the parchment into an envelope, sealed it and galloped off to the Owlery.

* * *

 _ **En route**_ **between Rome and Bucharest**

Once again, Blaise found that getting a Portkey from the Roman wizarding authorities was a piece of moderately-priced cake, bribe-wise.

Pity the opposite party in Romania were immune to the glint of Galleons.

In fact, Blaise moaned to himself as he sat in a cold, draughty and windowless office in the Romanian Ministry of Magic, he'd even managed to bag himself a Romanian Percy Weasley, who was not moved by Blaise's exhortations that he needed to enter the country in double-quick time.

The grey-garbed government drone unfurled a large parchment and grasped a quill in his knobbled hand.

'Purpose of visit?' the drone monotoned in halting Italian. Which was only marginally better than his English.

What reason might crack this bastard's heart? Blaise thought. He cleared his throat. 'To visit my fiancée.' He smiled winningly.

The drone looked on impassively, then made a note on the parchment.

'Why the awful hurry, then?'

Um... 'She's pregnant,' Blaise gulped. 'Having some problems. She's very upset.' Gods, what level of Muggle hell am I going to end up in for telling all these lies? he thought to himself.

The drone cared not for pregnancies or problems. 'Intended destination?'

'Uh, just out of interest, how many questions are left to go?' Blaise asked politely.

The drone consulted the end of his parchment. 'There are precisely ninety-eight questions left, Mr Zabini,' he intoned. _'If_ that is your real name.'

Blaise quietly sobbed on the inside.

* * *

At last, at long FUCKING last, Blaise was permitted to enter Romania. Hurtling out of the Ministry, he dashed to the wizarding section of Burcharest's central strain station, but first he had to get directions to the correct train from a conductor who struggled to interpret Blaise's unique _patois_ of stumbling Romanian, Italian and English.

Eventually, he climbed aboard the train, just before the door closed, and slumped into a seat, trying his best not to fall asleep, but that interrogation was _so_ boring...

* * *

Blaise woke with a start. The train had arrived at its final destination, and the conductor was waiting impatiently for him to disembark. Blearily, Blaise grabbed his stuff and stumbled off the train, his eyes owlishly adjusting to the bleak evening light.

He set off down the platform, striding past the sign that proudly stated 'Welcome to Bacău!'

Blaise slowed, then stopped.

Patting his pockets, he drew out a sheaf of parchments and rifled through them until he found the one that had the Sanctuary's address:

 _The Ancient Oak_

 _Near the Muggle township of_ _Băile Herculane_

 _Caraș-Severin_

 _Southern Carpathian Mountains_

Oh, shit.

He found a dimly-lit tourist information board that indicated Bacău's presence on a tatty map of Romania. After many frustrating minutes, he managed to pinpoint Băile Herculane.

They were very, very far apart, indeed.

And, if he wasn't mistaken, the train he was on was the last for the night.

Blaise took a deep breath.

The decibel-shattering swearword he loosed off many have been in Italian, but the birds roosting nearby still had the good foresight to shoot up into the evening air and scatter themselves to the four winds, nevertheless.

* * *

 **Dragon Sanctuary**

 **Early morning**

Why in Merlin's godsforsaken name does Charlie keep sending me out to the most remote parts of the bloody Sanctuary? Ron griped to himself as he filled up his everlasting bottle of strong, hot coffee. It's getting ridiculous, that's what it is.

Doing up his bag, he shot a glance at the staff message area, usually a busy spot in the dining hall, but at the moment it was just him. As usual, there wasn't any mail for him. Sometimes, he got a letter from Mum. That was worse than not getting any mail at all.

An envelope with Hermione's name on it caught his eye. The address looked like it had been dashed off in a hurry. Idly, he looked at the seal. It bore the Malfoy crest.

Oh, my.

Ron added it to his gear in the bag, tied it closed, and headed off to work.

* * *

 **Wizarding Băile Herculane**

 **Afternoon**

It took Blaise a good number of hours to travel to the right town, and he fretted with every mile that passed. Already so much time's been wasted on bureaucratic bullshitters and pointless train trips.

'Please be okay, Hermione,' Blaise murmured to himself as the scenic greens of the Romanian countryside whooshed by.

At his poorly-inhabited destination (after checking to make sure he was, indeed, where he should be), he asked a portly porter how to get to the Dragon Sanctuary.

'Well, it's quite some way's off,' he began, taking off his cap scratching his head.

Do they have a Floo?' Blaise asked.

'Ooh, yes!' the porter exclaimed.

Blaise picked up his bag.

'But it's busted, so Mr Weasley told me, last time he was here,' the dottery old man finished. 'He's waiting on parts.'

Wonderful.

'Is anyone heading out that way I can catch a lift with?' Blaise asked, teeth on edge.

The porter had a good, hard think. 'No, can't say I can think of anyone heading that way, sir.'

'Well, does anyone from the Sanctuary come in to town regularly?'

'Why, yes, son, they do!' the porter beamed. 'Except...'

Oh gods! Blaise managed to keep that behind his teeth, just.

'They picked up their regular weekly supplies just yesterday, you see,' the porter lamented. 'Won't be expecting anyone for six more days. The perils of living in isolation, you see.'

Blaise was not the slightest bit surprised. 'Can I buy or hire a broom anywhere?' he asked.

'Absolutely!' The porter beamed. Blaise sighed in relief.

'In wizarding Bucharest!'

Right, that's it. Time to get off this rollercoaster of idiocy. 'Have you got a picture of the Dragon Sanctuary?' he snapped.

'Er, no, sir, not on me. May I ask why?'

Blaise shouldered his bag and stared at the wooden train platform beneath his feet. 'Because I'm going to apparate there,' he gritted.

The porter was thoroughly alarmed. 'Oh, my dear sir, you mustn't!' he bleated, wringing his hands. 'It's ever so dangerous if you've never been there before!'

'Yes, I am aware of the dangers, thank you,' Blaise said, glaring at the worried porter. 'But I have to get there now. It's a matter of life and death.'

'Oh, dear, oh dear!' the poor porter fretted, covering his eyes for fear of what he might see.

Blaise took a deep breath. _Destination, determination and deliberation._ He can do this. No problem. Just concentrate. Who cares if the bloody place is miles away? Who cares that I've never seen it before? Just apparate there, rescue Hermione, and go back home to Gia.

Gia –

The porter heard a 'pop' – and the sickening sound of something squelchily thumping onto the platform floor.

* * *

 **Dingy Muggle hotel room behind the pub**

 **Near the Dragon Sanctuary**

 **Evening**

Pansy read Draco's letter, then dropped it onto the bed, tapping her front teeth thoughtfully.

Ron watched her while he had a cigarette.

'What did Granger's letter to Malfoy say?' she asked.

He blew out a stream of smoke. 'She wanted to know what the photos were about, but she wasn't angry,' he recalled. 'Wanted to put it both behind them. Plus the usual shit about keeping an eye on me.'

Pansy set up and put Draco's letter to Hermione back in the envelope.

'We should write to Malfoy,' was her rather surprising statement.

'And what do we have to say to him?'

'Not us, darling. Hermione wants Draco to know that all is forgiven _viz a viz_ the photos, she's terribly busy at the Sanctuary and can't spare any time, but she's looking forward very much to seeing him once more at Brown and Nott's wedding, which, after all, is just a couple of weeks away.'

The wedding.

Ron's cock hardened.

'It'll keep Malfoy content. Or as content as he can be. He must be gagging for a shag. One when he's awake, this time,' she snorted. She looked over at her brooding lover by the windowsill. 'Can you get a sample of Granger's writing to charm?'

He nodded, stubbing out his cigarette. There's bound to be plenty in the Infirmary. 'What about Zabini?' he asked. 'He could throw a right kneazle among the pigeons.'

Pansy shrugged. 'Nothing we can do until we know where he is.'

Ron ambled towards her, his jeans riding low on his hips. 'How do you stay so cool about all this?' he asked, somewhat grudgingly. 'I can hardly wait until the wedding! Magic's practically fizzing from my fingertips!'

Pansy smiled slowly, the bulge in Ron's crotch not escaping her eye. 'Someone's excited to get their revenge,' she murmured, divesting herself of her outer layer of clothing.

'Fuck yeah,' Ron growled, his eyes on hers as he undid his jeans. 'It's going to be better than the best sex I've ever had!'

Pansy laughed and crawled on the bed towards him, her lips red, wet and curved in a smile.

As she fed his erect cock into her mouth, Ron put his hands on his hips and closed his eyes.

Yeah, getting his revenge on Malfoy would be nice.

But there was something he wanted much, much more.

Oh, fuck, that felt good.

* * *

 **A/N: Yep. There's a wedding.**


	53. Chapter 53

**A/N: character death**

* * *

 _Dear Draco,_

 _I'm in an awful rush at the moment – so much to do! But I wanted to let you know that I got your letters, and everything's fine. I'm so glad that horrid business with the photos is sorted out._

 _I rather wonder if perhaps the threat about Ron is a little over-egged? I mean, we know that Pansy is undoubtedly cooking up something horrible, but do any of us have any actual proof that Ron's doing the same?_

 _Nevertheless, I will keep my eyes peeled for any signs of treachery, darling. Promise._

 _I can hardly wait until the wedding! Unfortunately, I'll have to go there straight from Romania. The previous trainee healer left the place in such a mess and I can't leave poor Healer MacDonald in the lurch. But never mind, darling – the wait will definitely be worth it..._

 _Your love, always,_

 _H._

 _PS – just in case Ron is up to something, it's best that you don't Owl. In case he intercepts the mail. But never mind, it won't be long before we see each other again!_

'What do you think?' Pansy mused.

Ron's contribution, aside from supplying a scrunched-up note Hermione had made to herself about potions needing refills, was to scan the letter to match Hermione's 'tone,' inasmuch as he knew.

'Yeah, seems all right,' Ron mumbled.

'Excellent!' Pansy exclaimed, completing the charm that turned her handwriting into Hermione's. Sealing the envelope with the Sanctuary's seal (the best they could do since they couldn't use the seal Hermione used) she handed it to Ron with a flourish. 'That should keep Malfoy away for a bit.'

Ron shrugged. 'There's still Zabini, though.'

Pansy sighed with impatience.

'Just keep your eyes peeled,' she said impatiently. 'I can't have answers for everything, right?"

Ron narrowed his eyes. He would have subjected her to some discipline for her tone, but he had to get back to work so he could sneak the letter to the Owlery.

He sighed. Treachery is bloody hard work.

* * *

 **Hogwarts Castle**

The letter arrived at breakfast time, and Draco's chair shot backwards as he leapt up, clutching it in his hand. The poor house-elf that was innocently wandering behind his chair was practically flattened.

'Um, important mail,' he stuttered to Longbottom next to him, who was staring at Draco while holding a chunk of bacon and eggs that were about to slide off his fork. 'Catch ya later.'

And then he was gone.

* * *

 **Draco's room**

Well.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting. Hermione's fine with his explanation about the photos, which is... great. He supposed. Was it misogynistic of him to expect a little more yelling and screaming?

And as for her comments about Weasley...

'WTF?' was his initial reaction upon reading it. But when he thought back, he realised that she could be right. But still. Parkinson did a massive number on Gia to find out where Ron was, and now Hermione's where Ron is. He couldn't help but feel uneasy. To say the least.

Blaise will know more when he gets there. In fact, he should be there by now. He'll have a much better idea of what's going on once he's heard from Blaise.

As for the wedding, yeah, it was just next weekend.

He and his hand could live until then.

But he was pretty sure he was developing an ulcer.

* * *

 **Lucca, Italy**

She promised him.

Gia promised Blaise she'd stay here, and wait.

Aside from the very unpleasant business of breaking off her engagement to Giuseppe (who understood, of course, dear man, but Senor and Senora Lombardi most certainly did NOT) there was little for her to do but rattle around her parents' estate or Blaise's stepfather's villa, pacing and worrying.

The pacing and worrying had stepped up now that she hadn't heard from Blaise in a few days.

He promised he'd contact her with updates.

But he hasn't.

She doesn't even know where he is.

Or what's happened.

She did some more pacing, before deciding what to do.

She'd go to Bucharest and look for him.

* * *

 **Royal Bucharest Hospital (Muggle hospital)**

Blaise was fighting an enormous enemy – consciousness. It clawed at him, pulling him away from blessed darkness. Against his better judgement, his eyes opened into a room full of light. Merlin, it was bright!

And there was something on his fucking face!

Panicking, he clawed at the contraption until his hand was stayed by a calm, smiling woman in a crisp white uniform.

'Păstrați asta, vă va ajuta să respirați,' she soothed.

Blaise found his voice. 'What the fuck?' he demanded in English.

The woman blinked, then gave some instructions to a hovering younger woman, also dressed in white, who scampered off.

Soon, a young man with scruffy stubble and wearing loose green pants and a smock joined the little party. In heavily-accented English, he said 'Hello, patient! Is good to see you awake. Do not worry about mask over nose and mouth, it helps you breathe. If no need, pull off like so.' He demonstrated to a slightly less panicky Blaise.

'Where am I?' Blaise croaked.

The man in green nodded sympathetically. 'You are in Royal Bucharest Hospital,' he said. 'You had very bad accident. People found you on side of road and brought you in. We fix you.' He smiled.

Hospital? Blaise wondered. Well, that must explain the uniforms, the surrounding beeping equipment and bright lights. But why –

'What happened to me?' he rasped. The nurse gave him a few sips of water.

The doctor looked a little doubtful. 'We are not sure,' he said slowly. 'Basically, you were found unconscious – and you must prepare yourself – missing your left arm.'

My left... what?

With effort, Blaise turned his head to the left arm, which was swathed in bandages. Or would have been swathed in bandages, except the bandages stopped below his shoulder.

Oh, holy fucking shit! Blaise yelped to himself. I splinched myself! I've got to get out here, find my fucking arm and get to a Healer!

Which he attempted to do.

Unfortunately, the hospital staff mistook his energised activity for shock and panic. There was certainly a lot of it. Activity, that is. The doctor and junior nurse practically flattened themselves over Blaise's body in an attempt to subdue him. The doctor called out instruction to the other nurse, who injected something into Blaise's IV.

Blaise knew not nor cared what it was. One second he was horribly, horribly awake – the next second – nothing at all.

* * *

 **Wizarding Bucharest**

Ron had a rare day off to himself, and he felt the urge to add a little more wizarding ink to his skin. Something in anticipation of the Great Plan coming to fruition. Just a matter to days, now.

Pansy suggested that he spend the day in the dingy Muggle motel room with her, but Ron was keen for a little fresh air. He was sure all that mould in the tiny bathroom wasn't doing his lungs any good.

That, or the cigarettes.

So, he'd spent his morning in Wizarding Bucharest's magical tattoo studio, adding a piece of art to his bare shoulder. A griffin clawing the shit out of a snake. The snake was not enjoying himself.

Once done, he headed over to the Ministry of Magic to collect a delivery of important parchments, like the good little delivery slave-boy he was.

And it was here that he noticed a rather fit-looking brunette woman talking (or trying to talk) to an impassive grey-garbed official, and getting nowhere.

Yet it wasn't the shape of the girl's body or the beauty of her face that arrested him. It was what she said.

'Blaise Zabini.'

* * *

Ron bided his time in the shadows until the grey drone wafted disinterestedly away. Now the girl was alone; distressed, and not sure what to do next.

Perfect.

He touched the Protean coin Pansy gave him in his trouser pocket. Time to get her out of that dingy motel bed.

Then he ambled casually over to the girl.

'Hi there!' he said cheerfully. 'The name's Charlie Weasley. I work at the Dragon Sanctuary. I couldn't help but overhear you mention the name Blaise Zabini? Pretty sure he went to school with my brother.'

He watched her eyes flood with relief. She didn't seem surprised if he looked a little on the youthful side; she'd never met any of the Weasley clan before. Or even knew how many brothers there were.

'Oh! Hello, my name's Giorgia. I'm looking for Blaise actually; he's supposed to have gone to the Dragon Sanctuary, but I haven't heard from him. And no-one around here seems to know anything.'

Interesting, Ron thought.

'I've been in Bucharest the last couple of days, so I can't say for sure whether he's there or not,' Ron said, 'but I'm about to head back right now. Happy to offer you a lift if you want one.'

Giorgia smiled. 'Thanks. That would be lovely.'

* * *

 **Royal Bucharest Hospital**

It took most of his energy, but Blaise managed to slowly stagger (with assistance) to the Mens' bathroom on his ward. The only place he could get some bloody privacy around here.

Luckily his shrunk wand survived the splinching. The hospital staff went through his clothes when he arrived, trying to find out who he was, and came across the elaborately-carved sliver of wood in his jeans pocket. Assuming it was some sort of lucky rabbit's foot equivalent, they didn't throw it away.

It was now resting in Blaise's hot little hand (he was running a bit of a fever).

He closed and locked the stall door on the orderly, whom he presumed was protesting at being locked out in his native tongue. He sat on the closed toilet seat, held his wand (not even daring to unshrink it), concentrated, and sent out the biggest magical SOS he could muster under the circumstances.

* * *

 **Dragon Sanctuary**

 **Charlie's sitting room**

'So,' Charlie asked carefully, 'how's it going with you?'

The pair had taken to sitting in Charlie's sitting room of an evening, just to pass the time away. Hermione pored through his many books on dragonology; Charlie sipped Firewhisky, answered Hermione's endless questions and wished to Merlin he could get laid.

Hermione looked up from her tome. 'Really good,' she smiled. 'Euan's such a patient teacher, and every day there's something new to learn.'

'I hear that he's running out of things to teach you!' Charlie laughed.

Hermione blushed. 'Oh, I don't know about _that._ '

'Just a few days before you leave,' Charlie sighed.

'Yeah,' she agreed. 'I'll be sad to go, yet I really do want to go home.' Her eyes clouded over.

Trouble in paradise? Charlie wondered. 'Everything okay? he gently prodded.

'I guess so?' she shrugged. 'I sent an Owl to Draco, but I haven't heard back. I'd rather hoped he would reply.' Then she shrugged. 'Pity the Floo doesn't work. But I'll see him soon, anyway.'

Gods, what a prick, Charlie grumbled to himself. Then he changed the subject. 'Hey! Guess what? Ron's allowed to go back home for a visit! He'll be heading over around the same time you go back.'

'Really? Goodness!' Hermione was surprised. 'Molly and Arthur want him to go back?'

'Yup! He's behaved really well at the Sanctuary for months; the Auror shadowing him quit because there was nothing to report, and he's remorseful for his shitty actions of last year. He's really looking forward to going.'

'That's great news!' Hermione said; but still... 'You're certain this isn't a put-on by Ron?' she asked carefully.

'Hardly,' Charlie snorted. 'Can you imagine him constantly pretending to be on his best behaviour all these past months? Now, I love Ron, but he doesn't really possess the psychological ability to keep it up that long and that well to fool us.'

'No, I guess not,' Hermione murmured.

* * *

 **St Olvernas of the Very Many Wounds Hospital**

 **Wizarding Bucharest**

One minute, Blaise was sitting on the can at the Royal Bucharest, praying for some form of wizarding redemption. Next, he found himself struggling awake in a hospital bed with far less wires and pieces of beeping machinery surrounding him, and a tall, honey-haired witch in blessedly familiar Healer robes standing at the foot of it, holding a charted parchment in one hand and running her wand over it with the other.

She looked up and smiled. 'Ah! Mr Zabini! You're awake!' she said in comfortable English. 'Goodness, you've created quite the kerfuffle!'

'Is everything okay?' Blaise asked woozily.

The Healer whizzed her wand over him, checking his vital signs. 'With you, or with the Royal Bucharest?' she winked.

'Uh... can we start with me?'

'Most certainly!' she replied, and pulled up a chair with her wand. Plonking herself down on it, she said 'I'm Healer Brâncoveanu, by the way. Did a stint at St Mungo's – luckily, otherwise there'd be a struggle to find anyone speaking English around here!' She laughed.

'Er, thanks' -

'Not at all. Firstly, the porter at the train station was kind enough to hand in your arm. You did give that poor old dear quite a fright, you know.'

'Uh... sorry' –

'Not to worry! Nothing a few shots of Pepper up and Firewhisky couldn't cure. So, since we had a fresh arm, we knew we had a missing splinched wizard, and only the vaguest directions of where to search for him. We notified the Aurors, who went out to search, but you must have been picked up by Muggles before they arrived, and then you were whisked off to Royal Bucharest.'

Blaise nodded in lieu of trying to get a word in edgewise.

'They took reasonable care of you there,' the Healer deigned to report, 'but it was rather inconvenient of them to cauterise and suture your stump. Still, what else could they do, I suppose?' She sighed sadly at the dearth of Muggle medical expertise.

Blaise risked a glance to his left. Judging by the vast number of bandages, it looked like his arm had been reattached. He was fairly certain those stubby unbandaged fingery things at the end were, in fact, his fingers.

Aww. He missed those.

With great effort, he tried to wiggle them. There was a tiny bit of movement.

'We'll run a series of tests on your arm shortly, to see if it's taken properly,' Healer Brâncoveanu promised. 'But it's only been joined together for a few hours.'

Blaise risked a question. 'What happened at the Royal Bucharest?'

The Healer laughed. 'Oh, my, you caused a lot of work for the Aurors!' she exclaimed. 'Practically everyone at the hospital had to have their memories modified in order to get you out! Notwithstanding removing the medical records! They had a terrible time trying to get into those machines where they keep all the patient files! In the end they had to take them away and plant more memories so the staff thought they'd been robbed.'

Blaise sank back onto his pillow. Shit. He'll have to find a way to make an anonymous donation to the hospital to make up for all the grief he caused them. They did their best for him; after all; and didn't need their Komputas nicked on his behalf.

'Your stuff's all here,' the Healer said, pointing to a cupboard next to his bed. 'But we were wondering if there was someone you wanted us to Owl for you?'

Oh, Gods, yes. Gia must be climbing the walls! And Draco. And he supposed he should leave a note for his stepfather.

No point wasting parchment or owl energy on his Mum.

'Uh yeah, I have a couple of people to contact,' Blaise admitted. 'Is there a Floo I could use?'

'Yes, but you're not up to using it,' Healer Brâncoveanu said sternly. 'Owls today; Floo _possibly_ tomorrow.'

'Yes, ma'am,' Blaise murmured.

'Good. I'll send some writing materials over.'

* * *

 **Dingy Muggle motel in Romania**

 **Outside Reception**

Gia looked around in some confusion. 'Why are we here?' she asked the man she thought was Charlie Weasley.

'If Blaise has arrived, he will have checked into this motel, as we don't have the space on site to house guests,' Ron lied. 'So, before we head to the Sanctuary itself, it makes sense for us to pop in here and see if he's registered.'

Gia smiled. 'Thank you for going out of you way to help me,' she said gratefully.

'Not at all,' Ron smiled. 'I'll just nip into Reception and make enquiries.'

* * *

 **A few minutes later**

'You're in luck!' Ron cried, grinning as he left the Reception building. 'Not only is he staying here; he's in his unit right this minute! Or so Housekeeping told Reception.'

Gia's heart leapt for joy and relief. 'Oh, he's caused me so much worry!' she half-grizzled. 'Which unit is he in?'

'It's number 115,' Ron said, handing over his key. 'Go down the path, turn left, and it's the last unit, right at the end.'

Impulsively, Gia hugged him. 'Thank you so much!' she said. 'You are so lovely to have done this for me.'

Ron laughed self-deprecatingly. 'Ah, anything for love,' he quipped. 'Well, I hope to see you at the Sanctuary later on?'

'Oh yes!' Gia grinned. 'Thanks again, Charlie!'

And with a wave and a skip in her step, Ron watched Gia head down the path.

When she turned the corner out of sight, Ron stealthily followed.

* * *

Gia knocked on the door of unit 115. There was no answer. Was Blaise resting, maybe? Or did he pop out for a walk?

She'll just take a quick look and see.

She knocked again before inserting the key into the lock and turning the knob.

Opening the door, she stepped into a darkened room. The curtains were all drawn and the lights were off. 'Blaise?' she whispered. 'It's Gia.'

The lights suddenly went on; and Gia blinked in the harsh light. 'Blaise?'

'I'm afraid Blaise isn't here,' a sultry voice said that had Gia's legs trembling.

Dear gods, please don't let it be...

Pansy stepped out of the bathroom, wearing a smug smile and very little else. 'My dear Gia,' she gushed, 'so lovely to see you again.'

Her heart pounding a thousand miles a minute, Gia turned and fled – banging into Ron's muscular body in the doorway.

'Charlie! Oh gods, you have to help me!' she babbled tearfully. 'There's a crazy witch in that room!'

Ron laughed, pulling her in for a hug. 'I know, my dear,' he admitted. 'She's a fucking psycho.'

Gia looked up at his laughing face and dancing eyes, and cold, fearful reality seeped into her body. 'Y-you're not Charlie, are you?'

Ron's grip tightened, and he propelled her back into the room. 'Ron Weasley, at your service,' he said in her ear. 'And I know _all_ about you.'

Gia opened her mouth – but a large Weasley hand clamped it shut.

He kicked the door closed.

* * *

The dingy unit was silenced, of course.

Only a witch and a wizard heard Gia's screams.

But obviously, since they were the cause of them, they didn't care.


	54. Chapter 54

**Romania**

 **Dingy Muggle Motel Room behind the pub**

 **A few mornings later**

* * *

Poorly-paid young housemaid Tereza Bogoescu pushed her housekeeping cart desultorily along the cracked pavement to the unit at the end of the row. Just one more crappy unit to clean, and she can put her feet up in the smoko area behind the kitchen and watch the sexy Russian Chef prep vegetables with a cigarette clamped defiantly between his sensual lips.

This unit hadn't been cleaned in a couple of days. The occupant requested privacy until he checked out, which was earlier this morning. Tereza shuddered to think of the state it was in.

She rapped smartly on the locked door. _'Servicii de menaj!'_ she called.

No response.

She pulled out her master key and slid it into the lock.

The door creaked open into darkness. Despite not being able to see anything, Tereza recoiled. There was something in the unit that smelled – like meat that was starting to go off. Did the _Englez_ not know those tiny fridges were just there for show? Even the tiny pottles of long-life milk curdled in the useless things.

Great, she grouched. Something more to clean. Thanks a lot, Red Devil.

She felt along the wall for the light and switched it on.

* * *

Motel manager Denis Serban was roused from his favourite activity – counting the facilities' meagre earnings in the back office – by the senior housekeeper, who burst into his inner sanctum without knocking.

'Get the fuck' – was as far as Denis got.

'Serban, there's something you need to see,' the white-lipped employee snapped.

'Can't you see I'm busy?' countered the fat, greasy-haired slob behind the desk.

'Get off your fat arse and come with me NOW!' the housekeeper roared.

Grizzling and grumbling, Denis peeled his bulk away from his desk and waddled off after the agitated employee.

* * *

Eventually they stopped at Unit 115, where they were met by a hysterical junior housekeeper and, for some reason, the Russian Chef, who, instead of prepping vegetables as he should be, had his arms wrapped supportingly around the trembling, ashen-faced girl.

'Stop copping a feel and get back to work!' Denis snapped to the chef as he passed, who, like the rest of the staff, ignored him.

The senior housekeeper stood at the closed door to the unit. 'There's a problem,' he said.

Denis sighed with exasperation. 'Well, clean it up!' he spat. 'Do what you're bloody paid to do.'

The senior housekeeper's lip curled. 'You don't pay us enough to clean _this_ ,' he sniffed – then opened the door to the unit.

Denis took one look inside – and vomited his breakfast all over the unit's ironic welcome mat.

* * *

 **Dragon Sanctuary**

 **A couple of days before the wedding**

Hermione's packing wasn't as neat and orderly as it usually was. In fact, 'agitated and hurried' would be a better description.

As much as she loved working at the Sanctuary –

She wanted to go home.

Or, in this case: Nott Estate.

Where Draco was, hopefully, waiting for her.

Which might explain the 'hurried' part of the packing.

But why so agitated?

Because Draco never replied to her bloody letter, that's why!

And she couldn't get through to him on his phone – it was either turned off or the battery was flat.

And the Sanctuary's useless Floo was broken.

In the silence, Hermione's imagination ran wild.

Is he okay?

Is he mad at me?

Has he met someone else?

She stamped her foot in frustration. She has to know!

The strength with which she missed him surprised even herself. Every night, he entered her dreams, laid her body bare and drove her mad with lust. She relived every time they had sex, every single occasion. She clearly saw his body move over hers, felt his fingers in her hair and on her body, his mouth on her breasts, and his erection – dear, sweet Morgana, his cock –

She'd wake up shaking and sweaty, wildly turned on and terribly disappointed.

God, she prayed out of habit, bringing her hands together. Please let him be okay.

* * *

There was a knock at her door.

'Hermione? You ready?'

She let out a silent sigh, and opened the door.

Charlie stood on the threshold, looking solemn.

'That your trunk?' he asked, striding into her bedroom.

'Yep,' she replied. And because she couldn't help herself: 'I've been shrinking my trunk for years, you know.' But she accompanied it with a wink.

Charlie smiled. 'I'm sure you have. But Ma would be horrified if I let my gentlemanly standards down. Especially for you.'

Hermione smiled, too. 'Your Mum must be looking forward to seeing Ron again,' she said.

'Reckon so. His previous behaviour added years to her life.'

'Well, let's hope it was a temporary aberration.'

'Yeah.'

The conversation stuttered to an awkward halt. Both Charlie and Hermione focussed their gazes on their footwear. The gap between their bodies felt full and heavy; pregnant with nervous energy.

Charlie snapped first. 'Hermione' –

When she looked up, her bottom lip was plumply held by her upper teeth.

'I' – he said, then stopped. What did he want to say?

I don't want you to leave.

I want you to stay here, with me.

I want you to dump Malfoy from a great height.

I want to feel your naked body in my arms.

I want to recognise the look on your face when I make you come.

I want to love you.

'Yes?' Hermione gently prompted.

'I – I hope you enjoyed working here,' he settled.

Her eyes lit up. 'I did! Even if it was for just a short time.'

'We'd be glad to have you with us full-time. Euan, particularly.'

'Thanks, Charlie,' she smiled. 'Who knows what the future holds?'

Charlie knew that if her future had Malfoy in it, she wouldn't be working here. Not unless Malfoy tagged along. Which was something he was unable to countenance.

Still, he smiled all the same, and collected up her trunk. 'Well, let's get you underway, then!' he said with false cheer and headed towards the door.

Sadly, Hermione watched him disappear through. Then she brushed a tear away and picked up her bag.

* * *

 **Sanctuary entrance**

'Come on, Ron! Hurry up!'

'Coming, coming!'

Hermione heard the sounds of Ron's large feet galloping down the corridor. She smiled. Just like when they were at Hogwarts. He was constantly late for everything there, too.

He soon arrived, dressed up warm in his travelling cloak and carrying his broomstick. His luggage was already shrunk and occupying one of his pockets.

He stared at Hermione. 'Is that all you're wearing?' he asked doubtfully.

Confused, she looked down at herself. She was clad in sturdy boots, jeans, a sweater and a puffer jacket. A jaunty pom-pommed beanie was pulled down over her hair. 'What the hell's wrong with what I'm wearing? she demanded.

'Well, it can get quite cold up in the air' – Ron began.

'Hold on, what? I'm not travelling by air.' Hermione was thoroughly confused.

Ron turned to Charlie. 'Haven't you told her?' he asked incredulously.

Charlie winced. His hormones got in the way again. 'Er, the only way we can travel to Wizarding Budapest, with our Floo down, is by broom.' He rubbed the back of his head shamefacedly.

'What?' Hermione hollered, hands on hips. 'There's no _bloody_ way I'm getting on a broom, so you'd better get that Floo fixed as of yesterday!' Her fiery eyes and flaring nostrils reminded Charlie, discomfortingly, of a Chinese Fireball dragon.

'Sorry, love, but we can't,' Charlie explained. 'We're waiting on parts to come from England.'

Hermione folded her arms over her chest. 'I'm not flying,' she said stubbornly.

Ron tried reasoning. 'You know I'm a good flier,' he said. 'And just for you, I'll fly at the lowest altitude and slowest speed that's possible without us stalling and falling off.'

Euan, who had already said his goodbyes to Hermione but wondered what the raised voices outside were in aid of, wandered over. 'Is she scared of flying?' he whispered to Charlie – but Hermione read his lips well enough.

'I am _not_ scared of flying!' she snapped, rounding on the surprised Healer. 'It's just that - it's just' –

'Yep,' Charlie said, trying to hold back a smile.

'I am NOT!'

'Um, would you like a mild sedative?' Euan offered.

Glaring at the three men, Hermione stomped over to her trunk, opened the lid, and rooted around until she surfaced with her travelling cloak and a silver hip flask; a present she'd bought for Draco. She tossed the flask to Charlie, who caught it one-handed in surprise (he still played Quidditch socially with other Sanctuary members).

'Fill that with the best and strongest Firewhisky your Sanctuary has,' she sniffed.

* * *

At last, Ron managed to coax a slightly more relaxed Hermione onto his broom. He seated her in front of him, so he could keep a tight hold of her, and slowly rose into the air. She squeaked and shut her eyes, but at least she didn't leap off the broom and head for the (dragon-infested) hills.

Charlie and Euan waved them off. 'Give Mum an extra hug for me!' Charlie called to Ron, who acknowledged with a nod and a thumbs-up.

The both watched the couple on the broom head sedately into the sky until they were a mere speck in the air.

'Let's hope nothing untoward happens,' Euan murmured.

Charlie, who was rather tired of people not giving Ron the benefit of the doubt after so many months of exemplary behaviour, sighed. 'They'll be fine,' he said shortly, and headed back into the warmth of the Sanctuary.

* * *

 **Hogwarts Castle**

 **Potions classroom**

Draco had dismissed his First Years from their class and was getting his books and notes into order when a tiny voice behind him said 'Um, Sir?'

'Yes, Montgomery?' he said, turning around.

'Um, well, sir,' Montgomery warbled, 'me and Smythe (another First Year Slytherin who, for some reason, had become busom friends with the wraith-like child) found this, and I knew you had one, at least, and I'd wondered if you'd lost it?'

In Montgomery's tiny hand sat Draco's phone. The screen guard was cracked and the cover was filthy, but it was still recognisably Draco's phone.

'Huh,' Draco said, surprised. 'Well, that is my phone, all right. Where did you find it?'

Montgomery's gaze plummeted to his shoes.

Draco sighed. 'Thanks for finding my phone, mate, but don't go into the Forbidden Forest, right? That place is seriously bad news.' And was number one on his List of Places He'll Never Visit Again, even if Someone Paid Him to Go.

'I won't, sir. Thanks, sir!' And off Montgomery went.

Alone in the classroom, Draco stared at his phone.

* * *

 **Great Hall**

Neville watched Draco desultorily apply cleaning spells to an oblong object that was sitting on the table next to his lunch plate. 'Say, is that an iFone?' he asked, impressed.

Draco shrugged. 'It was. Not sure it is, anymore.'

'What happened to it? Looks like it's been buried.'

'It fell from the Astronomy Tower.'

'Seriously? And it's still in one piece? That's pretty serious Muggle Technology.'

Draco took a bite of his sandwich.

'Maybe you could ask Professor Clarence (Muggle Studies) if she can get it going for you?'

'No need,' Draco replied. 'Hermione showed me how.'

'You all right?' Neville asked in a low voice, leaning closer. 'You don't seem that happy.'

'I'm not sure if I want to keep it.'

'Well, if you don't want it, can I have it?' Neville asked.

Draco glowered at him.

Wisely backtracking, Neville asked 'Maybe there's a message from Hermione in it that you haven't heard, yet?'

Draco looked at the phone once more. Maybe...

* * *

 **Slytherin House**

 **Draco's room**

Having purloined the largest potato that Draco asked the house-elves to find in the kitchens, he plugged his dead phone in, imbued the potato with the charms Hermione taught him, then went to teach his afternoon classes.

* * *

 **Later**

It was just before bedtime when Draco returned to his bedroom, weary from a full day's teaching and a full evening's Quidditch coaching. In fact, it wasn't until he got into bed and turned the light off that he noticed the faint glow coming from the potato's direction.

He levitated the contraption to his bed and unplugged the phone from the potato. Through the cracked screen, he could just make out the start of a text message.

From Hermione.

He sat up in bed, unlocked the phone and brought the message up. His heart was pounding.

 _D,_ (it read)

 _I tried to phone, but you never picked up and now it goes straight to voicemail. I hope nothing's happened to you? Or your iPhone?_

 _In the hope that this message reaches you, I just want to say that I miss you so much and I can't wait to see you at the wedding – and after that, I can't wait until the wedding's over and we can be alone. Just us two, in our flat._

 _Please reply if you can, even if it's just by text._

 _H x_

Draco was suddenly inspired. He replied:

 _H,_

 _I'd suggest that we ditch the wedding and just go straight to our flat, but I know you won't let us do it. And for good reason, of course. I just want to put this nightmare term behind us and help each other heal. Every part of my mind, my body and my soul needs you, and wants you, desperately._

 _D x_

He pressed 'send,' put the phone away and lay down in bed again.

A band of tension around his chest had been released. He could fill his lungs completely with air again.

And his erection, lethargic as of late, had received a bolt of energy.

He closed his eyes, wrapped his hand around his hard length, and smiled.

* * *

 **Somewhere over Romania**

Hermione's eyes watered in the wind, her beanie had been lost to the elements long ago, and her loose hair was driving both her and Ron crazy.

'Can't you do something about your hair?' Ron yelled into the wind. 'It's obscuring my vision!'

'What do you bloody well suggest, all the way up here?' she shrieked back. 'Just let us down and I'll get my wand' –

'Merlin, no!' Ron yelled back. 'If you get off this broom, you'll never get back on!'

'For God's sake, how much longer do we have to go?'

'It's hard to tell! I'll have to – oh, SHIT!'

Hermione opened her mouth to ask what the 'oh shit' was in aid of, but it morphed into a blood-curdling scream of horror.

Ron's broom suddenly plummeted dozens of feet, then it lurched into a crazy, spinning dive-bomb that built up in speed until the world turned black and Hermione's screams stopped.

* * *

 **Somewhere...**

Ron staggered off the broom, clutching an unconscious Hermione in his arms. He propped her up next to a snow-capped tree and looked up to get his bearings.

According to his calculations, they were in a densely-forested part of northern Austria.

He smiled to himself and hunted for a cigarette. Exactly where he needed to be.

He touched his Protean coin and sat next to Hermione, cigarette clamped between his lips as he searched her robes for the hip flask. Drawing it out, he took a good slug, sighed and waited for Pansy to collect them.

It's a good day to be alive, he smirked.

* * *

 **St Olvernas of the Very Many Wounds Hospital**

Blaise turned away in frustration from the Floo. He'd been trying to contact Gia at his stepdad's place for ages now, and hadn't gotten a single response. Looked like even the house-elves hadn't returned from whence he sent them.

He bit his fingernails. Where the hell could she be?

Did she decide to follow him, after all?

Or was she at her parents' house?

He was just about to call there when he hesitated. What if she wasn't there and they'd presumed she was with him? They'd be besides themselves with worry. Not an auspicious start to becoming their son-in-law.

He tried the Dragon Sanctuary's Floo, but couldn't get through.

Frustrated, and ignoring the fear that was gnawing a little hole through his stomach, he went in search of Healer Brâncoveanu.

Time to get out of here.


	55. Chapter 55

**St Olvernas of the Very Many Wounds Hospital**

'Damn and blast!' Blaise thought in supreme annoyance when he pulled his head out of the hospital's Floo, after being told an imperious Snape that Draco had gone to Nott Estate. He tried their Floo once or twice, but it was understandably busy.

When all this is done, Blaise grumped, he was going to get a Muggle iFone.

He arm-wrestled his hospital discharge (literally) from Healer Brâncoveanu. Then he had just one last stop before he headed to either Lucca or Nott Estate.

* * *

 **Dragon Sanctuary**

'Uh, no, mate,' said a helpful but mystified Charlie after Blaise flew into the Sanctuary. Peering at the photo Blaise held, he said 'We've been really light on visitors since our Floo packed up. Was she supposed to meet you here?'

'Um, no,' Blaise said slowly. He was certain he told Gia to stay in Lucca, but if she's not answering the Floo, then, she's not there. Right? 'Actually, I was supposed to meet Hermione here and escort her to the Nott's for a wedding,' Blaise lied.

Charlie grew even more confused. 'But she's already gone,' he said. 'She left for Budapest with Ron yesterday.'

Slytherin's sainted scrotum! Blaise fumed inside.

'Er, with Ron?' he prodded neutrally.

'Yeah, by broom,' Charlie laughed. 'Took some doing to get Hermione on it, that's for sure!'

Now Blaise was faced with a dilemma. Stick to the original mission - track Hermione to Budapest and make sure she's on the way to London? Or double back to Lucca to make sure Gia's actually there?

Sorry, Draco, Blaise thought with increasing dread as he mounted his broom. Where I'm concerned, Gia comes first.

* * *

 **Lucca**

 **Blaise's stepfather's house**

Blaise was bone-weary, but his mounting anxiety kept him on his toes. Only pausing to drop his gear on the floor just outside the Floo, he raced up the stairs, calling Gia's name.

But she was nowhere to be found. He should know; he nearly tore the house apart looking for her.

Has she left him again?

Did she go back to bloody Giuseppe?

His fingernails were almost chewed to the quick and a big lump of dread had taken up permanent residence in his chest.

He was slumped against the kitchen bench, trying to both work out his next move and stave off sleep, when he heard the Floo roar into life.

His heart in his mouth, Blaise dashed down the stairs again, to find the Floo in call mode.

He experienced a brief pang of disappointment when he saw it wasn't Gia; but it was quickly overshadowed by surprise and fear.

It was Tomaso Rossi. His face was wretched and he could barely speak. Tears coursed down his cheeks.

'Blaise, _mio figlio,'_ he croaked. 'You must come.'

 _Caro Dio, no..._ Blaise prayed. She can't be... please don't let her be...

He stood up and grabbed a handful of Floo powder before he stepped into the Floo. Knowing, with utter certainty, that his life would never be the same again.

* * *

 **Nott Estate**

 **Afternoon before the wedding**

'Bloody hell,' Ginny said, her eyes out on stalks, as she and Parvati followed Lavender around another golden-brick corner and into an enormous, many-windowed orangery. 'This place is enormous!'

'I'll say,' Lavender agreed faintly as she sank into a rattan peacock chair that was nearly obscured by heady, fragrant fruit tree leaves. 'I still get lost on a daily basis. If it wasn't for the _Point Me_ spell, I'd end up so lost that I probably wouldn't be found until I was well-fossilised.'

Parvati, making a note to show Neville this room (he'd be practically orgasmic with delight) peered closely at Lavender. This bride was not of the ordinarily blushing type. She looked, in fact, pale and a little blancmange-y.

'Are you all right, Lav?' Parvati asked hopefully. She was hoping to spend at least one night in Theo's magnificent family castle with Neville in the _divine_ four-poster bed that took pride of place in their guest bedroom, but if the wedding was going to be called off, that wasn't likely to happen.

'Y-e-e-s-s,' Lavender sighed.

Ginny stepped up. 'Are you having second thoughts, hon?' she asked as delicately as possible.

'No! Not about marrying Theo,' Lavender hastened. The brief, shiny look in her eyes when Theo's name was mentioned did not go unnoticed by the pair. 'But I wasn't exactly aware that when I married him, I'd become mistress of this – this' –

'Castle,' Parvati and Ginny said in unison.

'Yes. This castle.' Lavender drooped for a bit, then cried 'It's massive! Inside and out! Eighteen bedrooms, countless bathrooms, rooms like this one that I've never heard of before! And outside's even bigger! Ornamental gardens, water features, dovecotes, cottages and stables, and that's just the immediate castle grounds! The actual estate is miles long in every possible direction! And I can't remember the house-elves' names!' Her impassioned speech ended on a wail and she wept into her hands.

Parvati and Ginny and looked at each other, askance. If only Hermione were here, Ginny lamented. She'd know what to say. Where the bloody hell _is_ she, anyway?

'I'm sure Theo will be happy to help orient you,' Parvati said, patting Lavender's shoulder.

The only response was a wet sob.

'You remember Hogwarts, right?' Ginny asked encouragingly.

'Uh-huh...' Lavender sniffled.

'Well, this castle is smaller than Hogwarts, and you managed to find your way around there, right?'

Lavender paused, uncertain. 'I guess so...'

'You'll get used to it eventually,' Ginny soothed. 'And as for the house-elves, get them to wear name tags until you remember their names. I'm sure they won't mind. After all, you're going to be their Mistress tomorrow!'

Lavender dried her tears, and she tried on a wobbly smile. 'Thank you both,' she said fervently. 'Sometimes I just get overwhelmed with everything, you know?'

Ginny, who didn't know, actually, pulled Lavender out of the rattan chair before the leaves started plaiting themselves into Lavender's golden hair. 'Come along, then!' she grinned. 'Let's see what more this castle has to offer, eh? Any plans for a nursery, yet?' she winked.

'Oh, Ginny!' But Lavender laughed, all the same.

Following Lavender out of the orangery, Ginny whispered to Parvati 'Rich people's problems, am I right?' and was rewarded with a pointy Parvati elbow to her ribs.

* * *

 **Elsewhere in Theo's giant estate**

'Is she here?' Draco demanded as he leapt out of the Floo, shortly followed by Neville.

'Hello to you, too,' was Theo's dry response.

Draco deflated a little. 'Sorry, mate,' he said, clapping Theo on the shoulder and handing his shrunk bag to a hovering house-elf. 'I haven't seen Hermione in so long, I think I'm breaking out in a stress rash.' He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

'Missy Hermione not arrived yet, sir!' piped up the house-elf, thinking he was being most helpful.

Draco's heart sunk to his shoes again. He didn't think he could cope with the highs and lows of anticipation and disappointment much longer. As things were, he was fairly certain he and Hermione were quite likely going to desecrate one of Theo's closets before they made it to their guest bedroom.

'Never mind, mate,' Theo said sympathetically. 'Come and join me for a drink in the study while you wait, eh?'

Draco's spirits picked up a tad. 'Is Blaise here, too?' he asked.

'No,' Theo frowned. 'But the day's still not done, right?'

Unfortunately not, Draco thought. Time flies by when you're with someone you love, so why does it crawl when they're not around?

'Wogan?' Theo instructed the helpful, hovering house-elf. 'Take Mr Longbottom's bag to Ms Patil's room and then take him to where Ms Patil presently is.'

'At once, Master Nott!' he squeaked, bowing low, then he motioned Neville enthusiastically to his side.

With a spring in his step that he tried to hide for Draco's sake, Neville sailed off with Wogan, while Draco and Theo headed in the opposite direction.

* * *

 **The Rossi residence**

 **Lucca**

The sound of a woman's heart breaking was the first thing Blaise heard as he stepped through the Floo. _Senora_ Rossi had collapsed to the atrium's floor, wailing in anguish, shoving away the futile attempts of her upset house-elves to assist. A Healer had been brought in to attend her, and was making arrangements with his attendant orderlies to carry her upstairs to the main bedroom once he'd managed to sedate her.

 _Senor_ Rossi took Blaise in his arms and hugged him tight. He couldn't speak; merely gestured Blaise into the parlour, where two Aurors stood waiting in respectful silence.

'This is Blaise Zabini, my d-daughter's intended,' Tomaso croaked. 'Anything you have to say to me can be said in front of him.' He slumped into a chair and held his arm out. A tearful house-elf immediately placed an enormous glass of _grappa_ in it.

'What happened to Gia?' Blaise demanded, only just in control of his voice.

'Please have a seat, _Senor,_ ' one of the Aurors politely urged.

Reluctantly, he did so, perching on the edge of the settee.

The Auror cleared his throat. 'We just informed _Senor_ and _Senora_ Rossi that the Auror liaison with _Poliția Română_ was made aware of a homicide of a teenage female, whose identity they were having trouble finding. That Auror made enquiries and discovered that the deceased was a young witch.' He cleared his throat. 'By the name of Giorgia Elena Rossi.'

A shuddering moan escaped from Tomaso's chest.

Blaise knew this was what he was going to be told. His beautiful, kind, vivacious Gia was gone. But how? Who did it? And why the fuck did it happen in Romania?

How near was he when she took her last, painful, lonely breath?

He centred himself, then said 'Tell me all you know.'

The second Auror stepped up. Consulting a piece of parchment, he said 'She was found in a motel unit in Romania, close to the Dragon Sanctuary.'

The words hit Blaise like a bludger to the stomach.

'The, er, unit was registered in the name of a wizard called Ronald Bilius Weasley.'

All sound faded except for a persistent, high tone ringing in Blaise's ears. He shook his head to clear the sound and peered at the Auror, who was still yapping.

...'is on a leave of absence from his employment at the Sanctuary, but he has not arrived at his parental abode, as expected. Aurors are watching both properties, but we are of the belief that he never intended to go to The Burrow. Or return to the Sanctuary.'

Ronald Weasley, Blaise snarled to himself, I am going to fucking KILL YOU!

The first Auror piped up. 'Do you know _Senor_ Weasley, _Senor_ Zabini?'

Blaise bared his teeth. 'Oh, yeah. I know him.'

'Do you have any idea where he might be?'

Blaise stood up from the settee. 'I need a few moments to think,' he said neutrally. He headed to the balcony, laying a hand of support of Tomaso's shoulder as he passed. He stepped out onto the small balcony and gulped in some welcoming, cool air.

Then he screamed and screamed until he couldn't scream any more.

* * *

 **Nott Estate**

 **Wedding day – morning**

 **Somewhere in the castle**

As soon as Draco woke‚ he turned to the other side of his guest bed.

She wasn't there.

Fuck!

He grabbed his iPhone. No messages from Hermione. _And_ he forgot to ask a house-elf for a potato to charge the phone and now it was on its last legs.

Fuck, fuck!

He phoned her, anyway. With the last few seconds of juice his phone had left, he listened as Hermione's phone went straight to voicemail.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

She's cutting it mighty fine, he grizzled as he hopped out of bed and headed to the bathroom.

Merlin, I hope she's okay.

* * *

 **Breakfast room**

 **A bit later**

As expected, only the boys met for breakfast in the castle's sun-filled breakfast room. Neville and Harry, who, as Parvati and Ginny's partners, didn't have any official things to do that day except turn up to the ceremony in the suits their girlfriends picked out for them and had imbibed in more of Theo's estate-brewed whisky than Theo and Draco had, sat at the breakfast table looking slightly the worse for wear, but still packed in a sizeable quantity of the house-elves' perfectly-cooked bacon, eggs, saugages, baked beans, roasted tomatoes, mushrooms and toast.

The house-elves, now proudly wearing name tags on their 'special occasion' livery, were happily rushed off their feet, making final-day arrangements for the wedding: floral arrangements, making finger food, chilling the champagne (so easy when you're a house-elf; all you have to do is point a finger at the bottle and zap it) and making sure the entire castle was spick, span and blossoming with spring flowers from top to toe.

Theo and Draco, groom and best man respectively, picked at their breakfast, lost in their thoughts.

If Harry and Neville presumed Theo was suffering from a mild bout of wedding-day nerves, they were quickly put right when he put his coffee cup on the table and mused 'Why are people missing?'

Harry already knew about Hermione, but he didn't know there were missing 'people'. 'Who else hasn't turned up?' he asked.

'Blaise,' muttered Theo.

'The last time I heard from him, he was looking for Hermione,' Draco added, tight-lipped.

'Well, there's still some hours to go before the wedding,' Neville offered. 'They could still turn up.'

Both Theo and Draco put their heads in their hands.

'Maybe it's time the Aurors got involved,' Harry suggested gently.

But before Theo or Draco could respond, Ginny came flying into the breakfast room, her hair streaming behind her. Her face was white.

Harry leapt up from his seat. 'What's happened?' he cried as Parvati barrelled in to the room and screeched to a breathless halt.

But Ginny's large, scared eyes were on Theo. 'Lavender's gone missing!' she wailed.

* * *

 **Lucca**

 **Blaise's stepfather's house**

Blaise left the Rossis. Sooner or later, they'll blame him for Gia's death. And rightly so, he thought. And he would do his penance, beg for their forgiveness and take all the physical and/or verbal punches they wanted to give him. But right now, he had a score to settle with a certain red-headed _bastardo_.

He was tight-lipped witih the Aurors when they tried for press him for details. That was because he wanted to find Ron before they did. If there was anything left for them to find once he was finished.

His hands slowly curled into fists. He had a pretty good idea where Ron would be. Hermione too, most likely. In fact, the whole gang would be there.

Ron had played a long game, Blaise admitted. He never took his eye off the ball – revenge against Draco for 'defiling' his sister and getting him expelled from Hogwarts.

What better way to make a vengeful splash than to decorate a wedding with a body or two?


	56. Chapter 56

**Somewhere dark and mysterious**

Whimpering, Lavender woke to total darkness and a horrible headache. She felt terribly restricted, and then realised her legs were tied together and her arms were tied behind her back. Blushing, she realised she was still in her lovely, eye-wateringly-expensive lingerie – a boned corset, suspender belt and stockings; all of which should be concealed beneath her wedding dress, and certainly not for rolling around what felt like dirt in an echoey, pitch-black nothingness.

She gathered up as much oxygen as she could, considering her corset, and screamed for all she was worth. 'THEO!'

She was met by silence; then a raspy, incredulous 'Lavender?'

Lavender knew that voice.

It belonged to her Maid of Honour.

Well. If Hermione was here, things can't be that bad, surely?

'Hermione?' she shouted. 'Where are you?'

'Well, I don't exactly know,' came her tired but wry response. 'How about you follow my voice?'

Lavender gulped. 'Um, can't you come to me?'

'I would, but I'm a little tied up.'

Lavender presumed Hermione meant that literally.

She tamped down her fear as much as she could and inch-wormed her way through the thick, cloying blackness towards Hermione's voice. After what felt like ages, and with a much-chafed bottom, she finally shuffled into the welcoming warmth of another body.

'Made it!' Lavender sighed in relief. 'Are you okay?'

It took some worrying moments for Hermione to respond. 'I think so.'

Lavender hoped that was true.

'Do you have any idea what's going on? Or who did this? One minute I was in my room, getting dressed; the next minute, I was surrounded by this suffocating blackness. My Mum was in the room and everything! Merlin, I hope she's okay.'

There was another disconcerting silence, then Hermione said 'I'm not sure if I can speak for you, but the person who left me here was Ronald.' Her voice was devoid of emotion.

'Ronald!' But-but why, for Godric's sake?'

More silence. Then -

'I think we're bait.'

'You mean, Ron's using us to lure Theo and Draco somewhere to exact revenge?'

Even to Lavender's ears, that didn't make a lot of sense. Ron having a vendetta against Draco was understandable. But was Ron really that pissed that she's marrying Theo that he'd stooped to kidnap? Why? After the unpleasant scene at the Hogwarts ball, he'd pretty much ignored them.

It didn't make much sense to Hermione, either. In fact, she was beginning to wonder whether Ron had nabbed Lavender just for himself.

But it wouldn't do to freak Lavender out by voicing her thoughts out loud.

'I guess we'll find out, soon enough,' was her neutral reply. Then she added 'Sorry your wedding's been ruined, honey.'

Lavender grunted. 'This lingerie cost Theo a lot of money,' she muttered. 'If it's ruined, I'll throttle that stupid red-headed berk!'

Hermione's laugh was low and tired-sounding.


	57. Chapter 57

**Back in the breakfast room in Theo's enormous castle**

Theo, having just received Ginny's dramatic news, squinted at her. 'Are you sure she's not just lost?' he asked, not without good reason.

'Lavender and her mum were in the bridal suite,' Ginny started. 'Pavarti and I were next door. We heard a bunch of crashing noises and a lot of screaming coming from their room. We rushed into the room to find Mrs Brown in an outrageous fit of hysterics, the French doors wide open, and no Lavender! She definitely wasn't in the hallway, because we would have seen her. So she must have gone out the French doors, and we're pretty sure not by choice!'

Theo leapt up from the table, his face as white as snow. 'Wogan!' he shouted to the ceiling.

The house-elf popped into view, clutching a collection of lilac-coloured flowers that he was weaving into the greenery that wound around the entrance's majestic staircases. 'Yes, Master?' he quavered happily, but his face fell when he clocked Theo's strained visage. 'Is the flowers not to your liking?' he asked with a wobbling lower lip.

Theo ignored the question. 'Miss Lavender has gone missing,' he gritted. 'Assemble every single house-elf and search every nook and cranny of this estate.'

Poor Wogan was most upset to learn that his soon-to-be mistress (who seemed very lovely, even though it was clear she couldn't navigate her way out of a paper bag) was missing, but what tipped the scales was that they'd have to stop work and do some other work instead.

He pulled uncertainly on one of his large ears. 'But-but some of the elfses is at a delicate stage of the bonbon-creating process,' he sniffled. 'If they leavses their work now, there won't be any bonbons for the wedding!'

Theo got down to Wogan's level and eyeballed him. 'If we can't find Miss Lavender,' he said, clinging to the remaining shreds of his patience, 'there won't be any fucking wedding at all!'

Wogan conceded that Master had a good point.

'At once, Master!' Wogan cried, rallying. 'I will get all the elfses searching every cook and nanny!'

He popped off before Theo could correct him.

His face like stone, Draco stared at Theo. 'This can't be a coincidence,' he said woodenly.

'You think this is related to Hermione and Blaise's disappearance?'

'Well, three members of the wedding party have disappeared,' Neville pointed out. 'That sort of thing normally doesn't happen.'

Everyone stared at him.

He coloured. 'Well, I'm guessing that's the case.'

Theo clutched his hair. 'Let's go to the bridal suite and see if we can't find anything that might explain what the bloody fucking hell is going on.'

* * *

 **The bridal suite (because every castle has one, right?)**

Theo, Draco, Neville, Harry, Ginny and Parvati headed over to the wing where the bridal suite took up prime real estate. As Ginny said, they discovered a dishevelled room, wide-open French doors leading onto a turreted balcony and an extremely upset Mother of the Bride, who was being clucked to and fanned by an equally distressed Father of the Bride.

Theo nipped into the room's enormous walk-in wardrobe, clinging to the hope that Lavender had simply mis-oriented herself among the forest of robes and clothes he'd happily purchased for her. But alas, the wardrobe was bereft of brides.

He then hurried over to his almost in-laws and assured them the entire contingent of the estate's house-elves were tearing the property apart in an effort to locate their daughter.

'The bonbons...' Mrs Brown moaned feverishly.

'Bless my soul! Not the bonbons!' cried Mr Brown.

Theo raised his eyebrows. What on earth is in these bonbons?

'I really think you need to get the Aurors involved,' Harry insisted, his eyes large and worried.

'Um... perhaps not,' said Ginny in an odd tone, hovering by the make-up counter. She met Theo's curious gaze and nodded slightly at the unhappy parentals.

'Uh... Neville, Parvati, could you take Mr and Mrs Brown to my study and get them something 'bracing' to drink?' Theo asked, fixing a ghastly smile on his face.

'Absolutely! Right away!' Neville said cheerfully, and he and Parvati successfully manoeuvred the poor couple out of the bedroom and across the castle to the study (assuming they didn't get lost on the way).

* * *

Once the suite's door was closed and warded against eavesdroppers, Ginny strode forward and dropped a piece of parchment into Theo's hand. 'This was on the make-up table,' she whispered; her blue eyes filling with tears.

Draco read the note over Theo's shoulder.

 _Nott,_

 _your pretty little bride is now mine._

 _Malfoy,_

 _if you've been wondering where Hermione is, she's with Lavender, somewhere on this estate. Come and find her. But don't muck about – I might get bored._

 _You don't want me to get bored._

 _Ronald Weasley_

* * *

 _Draco, darling,_

 _you humiliated me in front of my peers. My family was mortified. We were shunned by decent society. And you – the swaggering, good-for-nothing, man-whore SLUT that you were, got away with a slap on the wrist with a wet piece of parchment!_

 _But now it's time to right the wrongs._

 _I can't wait to see you!_

 _Pansy xx_

 _PS: Theo – sorry about your bimbo being kidnapped, I had no idea Ron was planning this all along. I must say, he's full of surprises. No hard feelings, darling?_

 _PPS: no Aurors, please. That will make Ron angry._

Draco and Theo's eyes met.

'THAT FUCKING BITCH!' they roared.

* * *

Harry did his best to comfort a distraught Ginny, Theo called for Wogan once more.

He popped into the bridal suite, covered from head to toe in cobwebs and carrying an ancient lantern. 'You called, Master?' he asked, then hacked up a spider that had taken a wrong step off its web.

Theo ignored the spider, which staggered off to recover in a crack in the suite's stone wall. 'Wogan, what you have to report?'

(House-elves, with their magic, can search quite fast).

'Yes, Master! We elfses searched the castle from top to bottom and around and around and in every crook and crooner, but no almost-Mistresses is to be found, sir!'

Theo pinched the bridge of his nose. A hell of a headache was developing behind his temples. 'What about the rest of the estate?'

Wogan started tugging on one of his ears, which Draco had quickly learned was not a good sign. He silently curled his fists and gouged his fingernails into his palms.

'We searched every building and haystack and stables and trees and bridges and lakes and' –

Theo held out a hand to stop Wogan's endless listing. 'Did you find her? Or a young lady with brown, curly hair?'

'Wogan is sorry, sir!' he lamented, now tugging on both of his ears. 'Not a single ladies is to be found!'

Wogan stood there, doleful and cobwebby, while Theo rubbed his face and paced the room. Then he stopped. 'What about the chapel?'

Wogan's enormous eyes swivelled to the left. Then up, and down, and all around.

Theo sighed. 'Wogan...?' he growled.

Wogan burst into copious tears. 'I's sorry, Master!' he wailed. 'No house-elf dares darken the door of that cursed place, not even for almost-Mistresses and ladies with brown, curly hairs!'

Revolted by the spectacle, Draco turned to Theo. 'Where's the chapel and what's wrong with it?'

Glaring at Wogan, who was drying his eyes with his ears, Theo said 'The chapel is a stand-alone building on the estate, built in a clearing in the forest. It's said to be haunted' –

That set Wogan off again. 'It is, sirs and miss, it is!' he wailed. 'It's haunted by a horrible spectre of a big, fat monk who loves to eat elfses! Just last Christmas, poor Juno the kitchen house-elf got into the cooking sherry and wandered off into the forest and next morning all we found was his little Christmas hat and a piece of tinsel – IN THE CHAPEL!'

Dissolving into tears once more, he sobbed and heaved until Ginny comforted him with hugs (divesting him of cobwebs first) and the usual platitudes.

'Right.' Draco was already heading out of the door. 'Get a move on, you lot!'

'Wait!' Ginny cried, with an all-too happy Wogan clinging to her waist. 'What about the wedding?'

'What do you mean?' Draco cried impatiently.

'Sorry to sound pragmatic, but it sounds like we're about to enter into an epic showdown with Parkinson and my brother' – her voice hitched – 'and you've got guests who are in transit to the castle as we speak. As much as I want Hermione and Lavender back safe and sound, do you really think we're going to achieve it in the next' – she checked the time – 'fifteen minutes?'

Theo stared at her, speechless, until she grew uncomfortable under his gaze.

Wogan piped up. 'Missy Ginny is right, Master. Missing brides takes up lots of time.'

'It'll still happen, mate,' Harry added. 'But today, there's more important things to do.'

Theo looked crushed. But he soon rallied. 'Wogan,' he said, drawing out his wand and rolling up his sleeves, 'postpone the wedding. I'm going to save Lavender.'

Finally, Draco muttered to himself, and took off on winged feet down the corridor – until Theo called out that he was going the wrong way.

* * *

 **In the forest, outside the chapel, hiding in the bushes**

'Ginny!' Harry hissed, finally clocking that his girlfriend was shoe-horning herself into their secret hidey-hole. 'What the hell are you doing here?'

She rolled her eyes. 'Obviously the same thing that everyone else is doing,' she whispered.

Harry sputtered. 'But you shouldn't be here!'

Ginny put her hands on her hips and put her 'BRING IT!' face on. 'And why would that be?' she whispered hotly.

Theo and Draco angrily shushed them, so they exited their foxhole, moved further away and cast a magical cone of silence over themselves.

'Because I don't want you to be killed!' Harry argued, secure in the knowledge that his position was rock-solid.

Ginny introduced the jackhammer. 'I'll have you know that I'm in the top three in my year in Defence Against the Dark Arts!' she sniffed. 'And unless you want to be chauvinistic, SINGLE bloke from this minute on, stand aside! I have some brotherly whoop-ass to administer.'

Harry was deflated, but only momentarily. 'But that's just it!' he rallied. 'This isn't a matter of leashing an army of Bat-Bogey-Hexes on him – not that they aren't both fearsome and awesome,' he amended hastily, when Ginny's hair started to crackle into flame – 'he's done some really evil shit this time. We may not even know the true extent of what he's done! Plus, the last he heard of you, he was raging around Hogwarts, filthy mad that you'd gone to Durmstrang instead of to The Burrow with your tail between your legs. How do you think he's going to react when he sees you here?'

'I'm presuming he will be momentarily stunned into surprised immobility, and then we can all whack him,' Ginny replied sulkily.

'Gin,' Harry said gently, 'do you honestly think you could inflict violence, serious, incapacitating violence, onto your own brother?'

The fiery light in Ginny's eyes dulled. She swallowed.

'I understand your conflict, love,' Harry whispered. 'But in a fight, if that's how it boils down to, your hesitation could prove harmful to you or someone you love. 'Fatal, even.'

Ginny sagged, and Harry took her in his arms. 'Also, your parents would kill me if anything happened to you.'

She snorted; then she looked over his shoulder. 'Doesn't matter, anyway.'

'Why's that?'

'Theo and Draco have already gone in.'

* * *

 **Inside the chapel**

It was obvious Ron and Pansy were expecting Draco and Theo, so they didn't bother with disguising their entrance. With their wands on full _Lumos,_ they strode into the decrepit building as if they owned the place. Draco sent _Incendios_ to the wooden torches and creaking lamps that dotted around the nave, but the brave, bright lights didn't penetrate the crossing or altar ahead.

Theo had been here more than once, searching for wayward elves, so he strode forward with confidence, his wand raised. 'Weasley!' he hollered. 'Parkinson! Where's Lavender and Hermione? Show me!'

All around the creaky, cobwebby interior, a nasally, irritating female voice cackled into life. 'Oh, Theo,' Pansy sniggered. 'You're not in the position to be giving orders.'

Draco saw red. 'Pansy!' he called out, seething. 'You and I have some business to settle.'

'Oh, that we do!' she laughed. 'But first, I'd like to amuse myself watching you beg for your mudblood's slutty life. But once we kill her in front of you, by all means! We can catch up.'

The blood drained from Draco's face, but before he or Theo could react, the lights surrounding the altar blazed into life, and what the young men saw turned their blood cold.

Lavender and Hermione knelt on the floor before the remains of the ancient stone altar. Hermione was clothed, but Lavender was only clad in her bridal lingerie. Both girls sagged with exhaustion, and were liberally dusted with soot and dirt, souvenirs of their stay down below in the crypt.

Both were magically bound, their bindings completely controlled by the wizard or witch who cast them. Pansy controlled Hermione's ropes. Ron, of course, had Lavender.

Pansy walked from the south transept to the altar towards Hermione. She brutally grabbed a handful of Hermione's matted hair, and yanked her head up. Her face was dirty and tracked with the trails of many shed tears. She struggled wildly when she met Draco's horrified eyes, until Pansy viciously backhanded her.

'Fucking bitch!' Draco roared, leaping forward.

'Just a minute!' Pansy sing-singed. 'Just to make something clear. 'There has to be an exchange. 'Her worthless, pathetic life – for yours.'

Draco didn't hesitate. 'Done.'

'Draco, no!' Hermione screamed, except it came out in a cracked whisper. 'Don't you fucking dare!'

'No room for negotiation, love,' he replied with a lopsided smile. 'You made me the man I am now because of you. If I can't be with you, I'm just a shadow. You're meant for great things. I'm just made to spend my father's money.' He paused, then took a breath. 'I can't live without you, love. So indulge my cowardice and let me go first.'

'I won't!' Hermione rasped, lurching against Pansy's vice grip. More tears tracked down her face. 'I love you, Draco, I need you! If you do this, I – I – I' –

Her throat closed, and she slumped to the ground. Her tears rained down on the dirty tiles.

Draco's heart broke into a million painful pieces. Every molecule of his body ached to touch her. Hold her. Beat the living shit of out Pansy. But as he tried to charge forward, he found that he was rooted to the spot.

As was Theo.

You have to hand it to Pansy, Draco thought fleetingly. She makes a hell of an enemy.

'Lavender?' Theo called out, schooling his voice so as not to upset her. 'Are you okay, love?'

'Yes,' she warbled bravely. 'Just a bit cold, really.'

Theo and Draco could tell. Her lovely, pearl-like skin was mottled blue in places, and her shaking body was clearly visible to all who looked.

'You're not going to kill Malfoy, are you, Parkinson?' she asked uncertainly.

Pansy tutted, and sent a shower of sparks into Lavender's dull hair. 'Don't concern yourself with what doesn't bother you, darling.' Then she shrieked as a spark of magic flew from the opposite transept and lacerated her arm.

Ron strode casually to the altar. 'I told you not to touch Lavender.'

Pansy snarled, then turned to fix her wound.

Ron turned his head to the nave. 'Malfoy,' he spat. 'I've waited far too long for this.'

Draco's lip curled. 'Likewise.'

Ron ignored him. 'So, I'm sure you've figured out the drill,' he said. 'Hermione and Lavender will be returned, unharmed, in exchange for your life.'

'What, both women, in exchange for my life?'

Ron shrugged.

Draco raised an eyebrow. 'And if I refuse?'

He dodged a nasty fireball that Ron pulled from nowhere.

'Don't push me,' Ron snapped.

'Draco, please don't make them mad,' Theo muttered.

With difficulty, Draco turned the upper half of his body around to face Theo. 'You were always a good mate,' Draco murmured.

Theo's eyes widened. 'What? No! There has to be some other way!'

Draco snorted. 'What other way? We're immobilised. Our wands are useless. God knows what happened to Potter and Red. Those two psychos at the altar are armed, and hold the most crucial bargaining points we could have over our heads. Face it, mate. This must be what I was put on this earth to do.'

Tears spilled from Theo's eyes. 'I will never forget this,' he whispered. 'Or you.'

Draco winked, keeping his fear and dissolving bowels at bay. 'I'm one in a million.'

'You done?' Pansy yawned.

Draco swivelled back. 'Yes, you pug-faced piece of loathsome excrement,' he snapped.

Pansy stiffened in rage.

'Draco, no!' Hermione screamed, her eyes blind with tears.

Draco felt himself dragged onto his knees. Pansy's eyes danced with malice behind her wand.

'Try not to orgasm over it,' he spat, enjoying the way her eyes swelled with rage.

It was hard to face to Hermione, but no matter what, hers was the face he wanted to see before his world turned dark and the last breath ebbed from his body.

'Hermione,' he said firmly, tamping his fears down into a tiny ball, 'know this. Every single day that I've loved you has been the best of my life. Live your life well, and know that I will watch over you.'

Hermione's body heaved with sobs. 'I love you,' she whispered.

Draco smiled; the one he smiled just for her. 'And I you.'

Pansy, bored, raised her arm; and Draco closed his eyes...

* * *

 **A/N: someone saves the day...**


	58. Chapter 58

**Warning: character deaths, lemons**

* * *

 **Back at the chapel**

The two chilling, killing words rang out, bouncing off the chapel walls. Draco heard Hermione and Lavender scream; and despite himself, he flinched, holding his breath and waiting for the strike.

Then he realised that the curse didn't originate from a woman's voice.

It came from a bloke standing behind him.

Suddenly, his magical bonds were gone, and he watched in shock as Pansy catapulted backwards off the platform and slammed into the filthy stone wall. Her lifeless body slid down to the leaf-strewn ground before coming to a standstill.

'Draco!'

Clumsily, he picked himself up and stumbled over to the altar – ignoring Ron, who was staring curiously at Pansy's body – and pulled an also bond-free Hermione into his arms.

Finally.

He felt whole again.

Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and held on for dear life. 'I-I t-thought I w-was going to l-l-l-lose' – then her face crumpled and her tears overcame her.

'We're not out of the woods just yet, love,' Draco reminded her as he raised his wand to Ron, holding Hermione with one arm around her waist.

Then he looked back to thank his saviour.

It was a man he once knew as Blaise Zabini.

* * *

It was, of course, the same Blaise in body. But something had happened to him. His face was etched with lines of grief, and his once-warm brown eyes now resembled cold slate. His wand was pointed squarely at Ron's black heart.

Harry stood in the chapel doorway, trying to keep a hysterical Ginny from storming in.

'Zabini just arrived!' Harry shouted over Ginny's imaginative cursing. 'Didn't say anything, didn't even look at us – just drew his wand and strode in.'

'For which I'll be eternally grateful,' Draco murmured, staring at his friend.

Blaise ignored them – he was only here for one person.

'Weasley,' he spat in a flat voice, 'you killed Giorgia Rossi.'

'Oh my God,' Hermione moaned, while Draco held her tighter. He made sure his wand was pointed dead and centre at Ron's chest.

'You tortured her,' Blaise continued in his flat voice. 'You raped her, over and over, and while she was still alive, you fucking BUTCHERED HER!'

His final, awful words bounced off the chapel walls, echoing in macabre, watery tones.

BUTCHERED HER... BUTCHERED HER...BUTCHERED HER... BUTCHERED HER...

'Ronald!' Ginny screamed, her face a mix of rage and sorrow. 'You are dead to me! Do you hear me? Your name will NEVER be uttered in The Burrow again!'

Ron ignored her and raised his wand at Blaise.

'R-Ron?' Lavender sobbed at his feet. 'Y-You n-never did anything so awful... right?'

Ron's face softened, and he gently patted her hair and cheek. 'She didn't matter, love,' he explained. 'Not like _you_ matter.'

'Don't touch her!' Theo roared, and raised his wand. ' _Sectumsempra!'_

But Ron deflected the curse's path, and it shot straight back to Theo. His partial shield absorbed most of the damage, but the spell slashed deep into his wand arm.

Theo gasped in pain and dropped his wand, clamping his hand over the wound and sinking to his knees.

'Theo!' Lavender wailed. 'Hermione! Please help him!'

In instant Healer mode, Hermione straightened up and was about to dash over to Theo's aid, if it wasn't for a hand that was firmly clamped on her jacket collar.

'Uh, where do you think you're going?' Draco asked.

'Theo's hurt! I have to help him!' Hermione said, trying to prise his fingers away.

Draco sighed. 'He's literally in the middle of a battle zone!' he snapped.

'Well, then, we'll bring him here!'

Draco ground his teeth. Why was she so vexing and so smart at the same time?

'Fine,' he sighed. 'I'll create a distraction while you levitate him.'

But as Hermione got to work, Draco found that a distraction wasn't needed after all.

* * *

Lavender tried to gulp back her tears and be brave like Hermione and Ginny, but the sight of Theo, kneeling bloodied on the dirty chapel floor, made her teeth chatter and her bowels go quivery.

Ronald Weasley horribly killed a girl that Blaise loved.

He also injured Theo (and Pansy, she added as an afterthought) without batting an eyelid.

And now it appears he wants her back?

Well, this won't do.

She swallowed down her fear.

'Ron,' she asked calmly, ignoring the agony in her knees from kneeling on the cold flagstones, 'why have you done all these things?'

He was eager to answer. 'So I can move on and start again!' he said enthusiastically. 'If I put all the bad things that happened to me behind me, I can start afresh – with you.'

Lavender forced the gag rising in her throat back down. He's insane, she thought sadly. There's no other way to explain this.

'I'll treat you properly, this time, Lav,' he continued. 'Sure, I can't give you fancy clothes or fucking castles' – he spat, glaring at Theo – 'but I'll worship the very ground you walk on. You won't want for anything, I promise you. I just need to get rid of these Slytherin scum first' -

Lavender raised her head to his, and his words died away. Also, he could see down her corset.

'Ron,' she said, feeling warm and serene for the first time since her kidnapping. 'I thank you very much for loving me. But you need to understand this next thing clearly. I can never love you again. Even if I didn't already love Theo with all my heart' –

Off to the side of the chapel, submitting to Hermione's healing prowess, Theo closed his eyes.

\- 'I can never love anyone who kills witches in cold blood. Ever.'

The brief spark of hope (or lust) in Ron's eyes died.

'So, let's end all this silliness now, Ron. Let us go.'

Ron glared at Blaise and Draco, who glared right back. Then she shook his head. 'I'm afraid it's too late, love.'

Lavender went straight back to feeling cold and sore. 'What do you mean?'

Ron jerked his head to the others in the chapel. 'They'll never let me out of here alive.'

She knew this was right. Maybe Draco, with Hermione's influence, could possibly be made to exchange Ron's death for a so-called life in Azkaban, and Harry and Ginny would more than likely agree.

But as for Blaise – she glanced at his stone-cold face and dead eyes. His wand arm hadn't wavered a millimetre from Ron's body.

Ron killed the love of his life.

He wanted vengeance. And she could tell he wasn't leaving until he got it.

Lavender sighed gently. 'You're right,' she said dully. 'What are we going to do now?'

His wand trained on Blaise, Ron looked at his former love for a long, long time. Once he was certain he'd memorised her lovely form, her face, her expressive eyes, golden curls – and voluptuous breasts – he said 'Don't worry, love. I have an idea.'

He looked down the chapel at the door, where Harry and Ginny were still fisticuffing.

'Harry!' he called. 'Take good care of my sister.'

Harry blinked, then 'Wait!' -

Before anyone could move, Ron turned his wand on himself –

' _Avada kedavra!'_

The words echoed around the chapel as Ron's body crumpled to the floor.

* * *

Even thought it wasn't a wedding day, it was still a time of emotion and exhaustion.

A tribe of Aurors descended upon the estate, whereupon they split into groups and either processed the sad scene at the chapel or interrogated the snot out of all of the witnesses.

A Healer was brought in to inspect Hermione's work on Theo's arm, and while he tried very hard to find something wrong (he was of the firm belief that students needed to be kept in their place) he ill-temperedly informed Theo that his arm would probably not fall off for want of decent care and attention, and showed himself to the Floo.

While Hermione poked her tongue out at the departing Healer, Theo stood up, yawned, and told his friends 'I don't know about you, but I've never wanted a bed more badly than I do right now. Please amuse yourself in any depraved method of your choosing, but keep me and Lavender out of it. Good night.'

'Uh-huh,' the remainder yawned. Bed sounded like a good idea to most of them.

* * *

 **Theo and Lavender's bedroom**

After her interrogation (wrapped in a nice, warm blanket) Lavender went to their room's enormous en-suite and submerged herself in a gently-scented bath. It took a few changes of water (she was rather dirty), but finally she felt clean and warm once more.

 _Almost_ warm.

It would take a long time for her to not feel cold at the sight of her ex-boyfriend ending his life while standing right next to her.

Charitably, she tried to feel the same way about Pansy, but... it just wasn't happening.

* * *

When Theo entered their bedroom, he smiled at the sight of his almost-bride sitting among the bedcovers, poring over a set of floor plans.

He stripped off his clothes and showered the muck and dirt and blood away. Nude, he crossed the bedroom floor and climbed into bed, snuggling next to his love.

He kissed her cheek and played with one of her curls. 'Where did you get the floor plans?' he asked curiously.

'Wogan found them for me,' Lavender replied smugly. 'I'm sure these will help me get around the castle in no time!'

Theo took a peek and smiled.

'They're upside down, love,' he pointed out.

'Oh, bother!' Lavender wailed, then threw the plans onto her bedside table. 'I give up! Let's just renovate one of the estate's guest cottages and live there!'

Theo drew her body against his and ran his hand slowly down her flank. 'If you want.'

Lavender swivelled in his arms and stared at him. 'Are you taking the piss?'

He smiled. 'Nope. The most important thing to me is that you're happy. And if living in one of the estate cottages makes you happy, that's what we'll do.'

Tears of happiness filled her eyes. 'You'll make a lovely husband, one day,' she murmured.

He grimaced. 'I so wish that day was today.'

Lavender kissed his lips. 'It'll happen again, soon enough.'

Theo felt himself hardening – and so did she.

'Fancy a honeymoon?' he grinned.

'Is your arm okay?' she asked doubtfully.

'Yup. Hermione did an awesome job. But still, I probably shouldn't put too much weight on it at the moment.'

'I see,' Lavender said thoughtfully. She sat up again, and the bedsheets fell away to display her lovely curves. Theo's eyes darkened in desire.

'So, it's probably best that I straddle your hips while I ride your thick cock until our bodies break out in sweat, and you make me come over and over with your fingers on my clit and in my arse until you explode inside my tight, wet pussy?'

'Yeah, that,' Theo agreed hungrily, and helped her assume the position.

* * *

 **Harry and Ginny's bedroom**

Ginny stiffly shed herself of her clothes and climbed into some boxers and a t-shirt before getting into the bed she shared with Harry. Instead of cuddling into him as she usually did on the rare occasions they spent the night together, she laid on her back and stared up at the canopy above her.

Harry did the same.

'Do you want me to come with you tomorrow?' he asked.

Ginny would be travelling with Ron's body back to The Burrow.

She was silent for a bit. 'It's really just supposed to be family,' she whispered.

Well. That kind of hurt, he admitted to himself.

It was clear she wasn't in the mood to talk, and for good reason, of course. Her brother was dead. Last year notwithstanding, they'd still grown up together, and being only a year apart, they were once close.

Harry didn't know what else to say, so he leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips. 'I'd do anything to help you,' he whispered, looking into her eyes.

She didn't reply, so he turned away and extinguished the light.

* * *

At some point in the night, Harry woke up to the sounds of crying.

Lighting a small _Lumos,_ he turned to Ginny and found her curled up in a ball, her shoulders heaving.

'Ginny?' he whispered.

She raised her tear-stained face, and launched into his arms. 'Can you please still come with me?' she sobbed.

Stroking her back, Harry replied 'Of course I will.'

Her crying began to subside. 'I'm sorry I said you couldn't go before,' she gulped. 'But it's going to be so awful! Mum will be inconsolable, Dad will walk around with this blank look on his face, responding to nothing and no-one, and Charlie's going to feel so bloody guilty... I didn't want to subject you to this madness!'

Harry settled among the bedsheets, bringing Ginny with him. 'For better or worse, love,' he whispered, 'I'll always want to be with you.'

'R-really?' Ginny stuttered.

Harry extinguished the light. 'I promise,' he whispered.

They fell asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

 **Parvati and Neville's bedroom**

'Whew! What a day.'

'I'll say.'

'Can you sleep?'

'No, I'm not really tired. How about you?'

'No. I feel... restless.'

'Oh! Have you seen the Orangery?'

'No! Sounds interesting.'

'There's lots of different types of fruit trees in a massive glass room. Sort of like a fruit tree jungle.'

'Sounds rather... exciting.'

'Neville... are you getting an erection over an orangery?'

'No! Uh, well, the jungle part of it does sound intriguing. Who knows what you could get up to in a jungle of fruit trees?'

'Such as... you bending me over and fucking me from behind while you recite out loud all the Latin names for the trees you find?'

'Ooh-er... that does sound... very...'

'Come on! Hop of out bed and I'll show you the way.'

* * *

 **Blaise's bedroom**

Blaise received a lot of interrogating from the Aurors. For a while, it looked like he'd have to be brought in for further questioning over Pansy's death. But after a Floo-call with Gia's father, the Aurors decided that Blaise had acted appropriately in saving Draco's life, and since he never killed Mr Weasley, his constant claims to have done so, were he given the chance, were ignored.

* * *

Unlike the others, Blaise was not in bed.

He stood on the room's turreted balcony, watching the stars flitter and twinkle.

They looked alive; and he briefly smiled.

He'd picked one out and imagined it was Gia. He looked for her every night.

He liked to think she was watching over him.

He headed back inside and picked up his packed bag.

He left the castle without saying goodbye.

* * *

 **Draco and Hermione's bedroom**

In Draco and Hermione's bedroom, the couple were... fighting.

'I told you, I don't want to bloody well talk about it!' Hermione snapped.

But Draco was determined. From tonight, they would start with a fresh slate. But as part of that, he was going to explain to Hermione about those photos, as he'd been trying to do all these weeks, even if it killed him.

Trouble was, fifty percent of the required conversatory parties didn't want to participate.

'But, darling, I want to make sure that you understand that I absolutely, in no way, cheated' –

'I'm not interested!' she snapped, shedding her clothes and stomping to the shower. Wrenching the water on, she glared at him with her hands on her hips. 'I already know it was Pansy and one of her psychotic plans to do Merlin knows what!'

Stepping into the shower, she slammed the glass door shut. 'So do me a favour and let it go!' she hollered over the hot water.

Peeved, Draco stripped off his clothes and wrenched the door open so he could climb in behind her. 'I'm not having this hang over us for the rest of our lives!' he snapped, grabbing her shampoo bottle and working some of it into her hair.

'And it won't, if you stop banging on about it!' she snapped back, taking the soap and working it into Draco's sore muscles.

He narrowly stopped himself from stamping his foot in vexation. 'Considering how you reacted the last time you thought I cheated' –

Hermione looked up from working her soapy hand around his erect cock, outraged. 'Draco Lucius Malfoy, don't you _dare_ bring that up!'

'I almost lost you! I'd die before either one of us goes through that again!'

Sighing, Draco held her face gently in his hands, and when Hermione finally, reluctantly, looked into his eyes, she realised just how upset he was.

'It won't happen again,' she said gently. 'That's not to say you won't go off and do stupid things from time to time, but it doesn't matter, because I love you, and I trust you. Wholeheartedly.'

She let go of his cock and wove her hands through his hair, bringing his head down for her kiss.

And even while he smarted at her comment about him doing stupid things in the future, he relaxed and gave himself entirely to her.

* * *

 **Some time later**

'Hermione, love? Your lips look blue.'

'Probably because the water is freezing.'

'Hmm. An astute point, my dear.'

'Shall we find a place that's warmer?'

'I know a great place.'

* * *

Clean and towelled dry, Draco carried Hermione to their bed and gently laid her down among the bedclothes. Climbing in afterwards, he made sure that every inch of their naked bodies joined together, so their body temperatures and bedclothes made quick work of ridding themselves of their chillin' feeling.

Hermione complimented him on his first aid knowledge by feeding his cock slowly, inch by inch, into her mouth.

Dear, sweet Morgana, that felt... oh, no – rather too good.

'Hermione,' Draco whispered a tad desperately,' I, um, haven't had sex in way too many weeks to contemplate, so I'm probably going to disgrace myself if you keep going.'

Surprised, Hermione looked up, his cock popping wetly out of her mouth. 'Really? Not even masturbating?'

'I didn't feel like it.'

Hermione raised an eyebrow, then cupped his tight, heavy balls.

Draco whimpered.

'Oh, you poor thing!' she replied, hopping off his body and lying next to him. 'Well, the best remedy for your discomfort, Mr Malfoy, would be to stimulate your organ in a hot, wet, tight environment until you feel the discomfort ease. Repeat as often as necessary.'

Draco rolled over and settled between her legs. 'Is this a tried and true remedy, Healer Granger?' he murmured between kisses.

'Absolutely,' she assured him. 'Proven many times over.'

'Well, it looks like I'll just have to take my medicine...'

And not before time. As Draco slid into Hermione's willing body, he only just barely prevented himself from spontaneous ejaculation.

'Don't go anywhere,' he muttered, slowly withdrawing, 'this isn't going to last long.'

'I'm not going anywhere without you,' Hermione promised – and tried not to laugh when he wailed in frustration and orgasmed a mere six strokes in.

* * *

 **Three months later**

 **Back at Nott Estate**

It was the second time around for Theo and Lavender's wedding – and as far as the house-elves thought, this one would go far better than the first attempt. They were fairly sure there wasn't any murder or mayhem planned (although who could tell? Witcheses and wizardses did have free will, after all), the weather was sparkling, and most important of all, the bonbons were all made and begging to be consumed hours ahead of time!

Wogan checked his livery waistcoat for loose threads and sighed happily. It was a good day, indeed, to be weddeds!

* * *

 **At the reception**

Their bridesmaiding and groom(s)ing duties over, Hermione, Parvati and Ginny escaped the main table and sat with their boyfriends. The girls sighed at the lovely sight of Lavender and Theo, ridiculously happy newlyweds, slow-dancing in the middle of the ballroom floor to one of the Weird Sister's most hell-raising anthems. The boys nursed their beers and kept themselves amused by watching the house-elves nipping at the single-malt Firewhisky and getting completely trolleyed.

Draco looked around the table, and felt that all was right with the world. He was with Hermione again, who looked dazzling in her Grecian bridesmaid's dress. Neville was sitting with Parvati, who was feeding him a golf ball-sized bonbon, despite his laughing protests; and Potter was sitting with Red, who seemed to be having a lovely time, despite the shadows under her eyes.

But as for Blaise –

Well. He came to the wedding, stag, and performed his groom duties admirably. He said all the right things, smiled at all the right places, and danced with all of Lavender's crazy single relatives.

But Draco knew his friend had become darker since that awful day three months ago. He still grieved for Gia, and it would be a long, long time before the Blaise he knew returned.

If ever.

'So, your next internship is with Senor Rossi?' Draco asked him.

Blaise swallowed some beer and nodded. 'Yeah. It was nice of him to ask for me. He's at the front and centre of the legal world in Rome.'

Draco nodded. 'Will you be okay?' he asked carefully.

Blaise's black eyes met his. 'I thought they'd hate me,' he admitted. 'But they don't. Not at all.'

Maybe they were trying to replace their daughter with their almost-son-in-law? Draco wondered, but he kept his counsel and raised his beer. 'To new beginnings,' he said.

Blaise clinked Draco's bottle with his. 'New beginnings.'

'Ooh, that's a good toast!' Parvati cried, abandoning the bonbon and picking up her champagne glass. 'To new – and happy – beginnings!'

'Hear, hear!' the friends toasted.

Blaise looked at the canoodling couples and snorted. 'I think I'll open a book on which of you lot will be the next to get engaged.'

Draco merely smiled, and touched the ring box that was hiding in his pants pocket.

* * *

 **The End**

* * *

 **Thank you for reading Treacherous Affairs Part Two. I hope you enjoyed it.**

 **It's unlikely there will be any more stories in this series.**

 **Please look out for my next Dramione story 'Cross My Heart,' which hopefully will begin in a few weeks.**

 **Kind regards**

 **NeverNik**


End file.
